


This Too Is Sacred

by aliatori, Xylianna



Series: This Too Is Sacred [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV, Kushiel's Legacy - Jacqueline Carey
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Consent is Sexy, Enemies to Lovers, Friends to Lovers, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Prostitution is Sacred, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-03-01 22:09:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 96,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13304331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliatori/pseuds/aliatori, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xylianna/pseuds/Xylianna
Summary: “These D’Angelines were infecting him with their improper ways, Ignis feared.”When House Courcel hires Ignis Scientia to further Dauphin Noctis Lucis de la Courcel’s education, Ignis sees it as a prime opportunity to enrich his knowledge about the world at large.  But when he arrives, he is woefully underprepared for the culture shock that is life in Terre d’Ange.  It’s bad enough that his charge seems to only want to study the art of love, dallying with whomever strikes his fancy and driving Ignis to distraction.It’s even worse when Ignis finds himself in the same position, captivated by a muscular, tattooed Adept of the Night Court who isextremelytalented with his hands. And devastatingly handsome.  And, basically, the epitomization of everything Ignis has been denying himself his entire life.A collaborative AU set in the world of Kushiel’s Legacy.Tags, pairings and rating will be updated with subsequent chapters.





	1. Unstoppable Dauphin, Immovable Scientia

How, Noctis wondered, had his day gone from amazing to abominable in such a short amount of time? No, scratch that - how had his _entire life_ gone from amazing to abominable in such a short amount of time?

He’d woken up that day well after noon hour, tangled in the luxurious sheets of his gigantic bed and feeling well rested. After freeing himself from the mountains of pillows, he had a bath drawn, as was his habit most days. The fragrant bath oils in the water moisturized his pale skin and scented him with pleasing notes of cardamom and lavender. 

Once bathed, he called a servant to his opulent chambers to dress him. Outfitted in a simple but well made tunic and trousers for the day, the same servant braided his midnight hair into a multitude of thin plaits, each one tipped with a glass bead the colour of sapphire. Noctis had started wearing his hair in the Shahrizai style in defiance of those D’Angelines who couldn’t—or wouldn’t—see past that side of him, but he’d grown to like the look of it.

It suited him.

Satisfied with his appearance after a faint touch of gloss to his rosy lips, he lazed about in a plush armchair. He’d been deciding how to spend the day when a servant knocked on his door.

“Come in,” he called.

The lass curtsied deeply to Noctis before speaking. “Your Highness, the Queen and Prince-Consort have requested your presence in the family sitting room.”

Noctis groaned. Request in this case meant _demand_ , and Mother and Father demanding his presence would lead to nothing good for Noctis.

“You’re dismissed,” Noctis said, curt and irritable, flapping a hand in the servant’s direction. The girl curtsied once more, so low her nose almost touched the floor, and backed out the same way she came.

He rested his head on his hands and closed his eyes. The sunlight streaming through the floor to ceiling windows of his room created a warm, comfortable temperature; Noctis felt like he could curl up and go back to sleep right then and there. He raised a hand up in an indolent gesture, summoning a small flame that danced back and forth along his palm. Noctis loved the feeling of heat across his skin, the fire hot but not enough to burn.

If only magic could solve his more immediate problems.

After a few minutes, Noctis dismissed the flame, his midnight blue eyes drifting closed. Noctis dozed for a time before finally extricating himself from his chair and making his way to the sitting room.

A few servants bowed or curtsied to Noctis as he navigated through the hallways, their gestures ignored. He wasn’t usually unkind to the Palace staff, but the thought of whatever Mother and Father had to say to him had already worked him into a surly mood. Noctis strode through the corridors with his head held high, the gentle clink of his beaded braids falling in rhythm with his steps.

He knew for certain that he was in for some kind of trouble when he entered the sitting room and saw his Mother’s and Father’s serious expressions.

There were two things Noctis had gotten from his mother, Queen Aulea de la Courcel: the strong, almost too bold slashes of his eyebrows, and his sense of humor. After that, the similarities ended. Her golden blonde hair fell in loose curls over her shoulders, the elegant line of her neck currently curved towards Noctis’s father.

Prince-Consort Regis was an aged mirror of Noctis, a prediction of what Noctis could expect himself to look like in a couple of decades. Hair so black as to look blue that Father kept cropped short in defiance of D’Angeline norms, the sapphire eyes, the stern features that bespoke of his Kusheline heritage. A smile that could be cruel and kind in equal measure.

“Noctis,” his father said, pointing to a seat across the table from him.

Naamah’s pert tits, this was going to be a day.

Noctis seated himself and crossed his legs at the ankles. A light lunch had been laid out on the small table before him, but he found he had no appetite.

“Good afternoon Mother, Father,” Noctis said, sharp gaze darting between the two. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“You rudely kept us waiting for over an hour, storm in the room like a thundercloud, heave yourself into the chair, and then treat us to sarcasm? Have you forgotten yourself entirely?” Regis asked, voice already building to the quiet fury with which Noctis was so familiar. Ah well. Since his father had started it, he may as well get right to the point.

“If this is about trying to betrothe me to some poor sap of a girl again after our last conversation on the subject, you can bet that I will forget myself entirely,” Noctis said, folding his arms over his chest.

“Noctis!” his mother exclaimed, eyes narrowed, “There’s no call for this. We only want to talk to you.”

“Then start talking,” Noctis said, leaning back in his chair. He was pleased to note the vein popping out from the side of Father’s head, which meant his jaw was clenched in an effort to control himself.

A look passed between Mother and Father that Noctis couldn’t quite read. He did see the hand that Mother placed on his Father’s knee, heard the murmur of her speech without discerning the words. With a deep breath, Father turned his attention back to Noctis.

“Since you’re clearly not in the mood for basic social niceties, I’ll get straight to the point. We’ve made the decision to hire an advisor for you, both to support you in your role as Dauphin and to further your studies in history, languages, diplomacy, and any other subject he deems important for you to know. Your skill with magic is commendable, but magic cannot rule a kingdom.”

Noctis made no effort to hide the extravagant roll of his eyes.

“Does this seem like a familiar song to you? Because it does to me,” Noctis said.

“Oh, trust me, the fact that you’ve managed to either wrap every D’Angeline tutor around your little finger or drive them from the Palace in a bout of insanity was considered. That’s why this advisor is coming all the way from the University of Tiberium. His name is Ignis Scientia.”

Noctis burst out into genuine laughter, the sound of it ringing through the spacious chamber. He drummed his heels against the floor, laughing until tears began to leak from the corners of his eyes.

“You hired me a _Caerdicci_ advisor? What, are you trying to have the Crown accused of murder? He’ll stroke out at the first sight of two men kissing in the street and you’ll have wasted the ducats! Elua’s balls, you’d better hope no one tells him about the Night Court - his poor heart couldn’t handle the idea of _languisement_ , let alone what goes on at Valerian or Mandrake House.”

“Noctis, language!” his mother hissed.

“Ignis comes with a list of recommendations as long as my arm from the Masters of the Great University. He’s only two years older than you, which means you shouldn’t be able to run him ragged through sheer force alone,” his father said, fixing Noctis with a look so grim that it quelled most of his laughter.

“We should have done this much sooner. Most heirs begin intensive study before reaching ten years of age. The fact that it’s been put off this long only places you at a disadvantage, Noctis, and your father and I regret not pressing the issue earlier. You will be King of Terre d’Ange one day. The sooner you come to terms with that idea, the better it will be. For all of us,” his mother said, voice firm but not unkind.

Noctis felt a miserable twinge of _something_ in his gut - guilt? Anxiety? Pain? All of the above. He was all too aware that his parents had wanted more children, that his mother had been unable to bear more and had suffered for it. Noctis was, for better or for worse, all they had.

“Sure,” Noctis said, lips pursed together in a tight line.

“I expect your full cooperation with Ignis when he arrives. You will put aside your differences and learn from him. Who knows? You could even make a friend out of him as well, if you can get over your petulance long enough to do so.”

“And if I don’t?” Noctis drawled.

“I can assure you, Noctis, that if you do not cooperate, you will not like the consequences. If you wish to find out what those consequences are, feel free to test me on this point,” Regis said.

Noctis felt a quiver of nauseous fear despite his best efforts not to at the threat in his father’s tone.

“Fine,” Noctis said, pushing his chair back and standing. “Are we finished?”

“Yes,” his mother said quietly.

“Good,” Noctis said, already heading towards the door, “I’m going out for the evening. I don’t know when I’ll be back. Maybe I won’t be back at all tonight.”

“Take Cor,” his father boomed after him, “I won’t have you getting assassinated because you’re throwing a royal temper tantrum.”

“I would only be so _lucky_ ,” Noctis called back over his shoulder before slamming the door behind him.

* * *

Noctis did not, in fact, stop to get Cor before he left the Palace, but Cor found him anyway. He was only a short distance outside the Palace when the familiar grey-garbed warrior entered his peripheral vision.

“Your Highness,” he said, matching his pace to Noctis’s. Noctis heaved a sigh.

“Cor,” Noctis said. “Please tell me Father didn’t send you with a lecture as well as your daggers.”

The Cassiline brother actually chuckled at that, which made Noctis raise an eyebrow in his direction.

“No lecture, Your Highness. The daggers, sword and vambraces are here along with me, though,” Cor replied.

Noctis had to admit that he did feel safer with Cor by his side. Cassilines were fierce warriors, sworn to protect their charges and trained in a fighting style that involved circular patterns around said charge. Cor was one of the best of them—he’d even earned the nickname The Immortal for single-handedly protecting Noctis’s mother against more than a dozen assassins before Noctis was born.

“Let’s pray to Elua that we won’t need them,” Noctis said drily.

“Where are we headed, Your Highness? Mont Nuit?” Cor asked.

“I don’t know if I should be impressed or annoyed that you think I’m going to the Night Court this early in the day,” Noctis said, which drew another low laugh from Cor. “No, I’m going to the City of Elua’s center. They’ve just finished adding a fountain to a plaza near there and I wish to see it.”

“There won’t be any fish in that fountain, Your Highness,” Cor said. Noctis laughed in spite himself.

“I’m aware. But I want to enjoy something beautiful on one of my last days of freedom, and I’m sure it’ll be lovely,” Noctis said.

They travelled in companionable silence towards the City of Elua’s center. Elua’s Oak made it easy to pinpoint the direction as long as you were within the city proper, its massive branches towering above the white outer city walls. Noctis tried and failed to keep his thoughts from his new advisor.

What were Mother and Father thinking? Noctis didn’t care how cultured or intelligent this Ignis Scientia was, there’s no way he’d last a month in Terre d’Ange. He’d met the occasional Caerdicci diplomat when they visited the Palace and had found all of them insufferable. Prim, proper, prudish pricks.

He was probably hideous too. Noctis imagined Ignis to be an academic that kept himself cloistered away in some fusty room with nothing but books for company. He probably had sickly pale skin, a blemished complexion, huge spectacles and unfashionable clothing to top it all off. As if studying boring texts wasn’t bad enough on its own, Noctis wouldn’t even have anything pleasant to look at while he did so. After all, Ignis wasn’t D’Angeline, and nothing could compare to D’Angeline beauty.

This thought naturally led to his father’s parting words. Noctis couldn’t help but dwell on what consequences his father had referred to, but he also didn’t want to find out what they were firsthand. He’d _try_ to get along with this advisor, but Noctis made no promises if he found the man insufferable.

And he _certainly_ wouldn’t be happy about it.

“Your Highness!” Cor said, grabbing Noctis’s arm and jerking his body to the side. The move stopped what would have been a full-on collision with a blonde crouched near the fountain Noctis had arrived at. As it was, he jostled the young man badly, causing what looked to be paper and charcoal to go scattering.

“Elua’s balls,” Noctis swore, equal parts guilty and annoyed that he’d bowled some poor soul over because he was so lost in his thoughts. He went and collected the scattered materials to hand back to the young man. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I probably shouldn’t have been sitting in the middle of the path, but the angle was just so good.”

When Noctis reached down to hand the blonde his possessions, the young man looked up at him. Noctis felt his heart stutter in his chest.

A beautiful pair of pale violet eyes met Noctis’s, framed by freckled cheeks and a sweet but nervous smile. He took the proffered items from Noctis and stood up, dusting himself off with a few slaps of his palms against his trousers.

“Hi,” Noctis said, a bit dazed and a lot interested, “I’m Noctis. What’s your name?”

The young man’s eyes widened when Noctis said his name. The violet gaze flicked to Cor, registering the Cassiline’s presence, then back to Noctis. He made a noise Noctis could only classify as adorable as he bowed.

“Your Highness! It’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Prompto. Adept of House Eglantine,” he said, finally rising from his bow.

“Eglantine. Explains the sketchbook. Do you normally make a habit of tripping handsome young princes while you draw, or…?” Noctis asked, a slow grin spreading over his face. His informality was rewarded with a pretty flush in Prompto’s cheeks.

“No, Your Highness. I, um, normally draw portraits, actually. But I was passing through when inspiration struck and, well, here I am!”

“Portraits. Hmm,” Noctis said, thoughtful. Commissioning a royal portrait was on the long list of things Mother and Father had tasked him with. “Good to know. My apologies for my lack of attentiveness, Prompto of Eglantine House.”

“No need to apologize, Your Highness,” Prompto said, regaining some of his composure. Now that he was standing, Noctis appreciatively noted Prompto’s willowy frame and the way his blonde hair brushed the tops of slim shoulders.

“I wish you luck with finishing your drawing,” Noctis said, inclining his head and turning to leave.

“A kiss from the Dauphin himself might help, you know. For luck,” Prompto said, a small grin playing about his lips. Daring _and_ beautiful, one of Noctis’s favourite combinations.

Noctis faced Prompto and closed the gap between them, bringing one of his hands up to cup Prompto’s cheek. Noctis brushed his lips against Prompto’s, chaste but a few heartbeats longer than proper. Prompto smelled of cinnamon and petrichor, a delightful mix.

“I bid you a good afternoon, Prompto,” Noctis said as he broke away from the artist. The fountain’s charm paled in comparison to Prompto’s, so Noctis felt no reason to linger. As he exited the square, Cor followed, a silent shadow.

Noctis found himself in a much better mood as he strolled through the City of Elua. Even when he thought of his forthcoming advisor, Ignis Scientia, the thoughts were no longer quite as sour. He’d been through this before and he’d get through it again, one way or the other.

Maybe he’d give himself as a welcoming gift to Ignis, greet him with nothing on except a ribbon wrapped around his cock. The thought made Noctis laugh, tension easing in his chest.

Cor might have been onto something with Mont Nuit. Noctis suddenly felt like a visit to Heliotrope House.

He was in the mood to be worshipped.

* * *

Ignis Scientia stared in frank admiration at the marvels of engineering surrounding him.

From the massive bridge leading to the city gates, built untold years back by natives of his own Tiberium, to the pristine white walls hugging the city’s perimeter, the City of Elua was truly a beauteous sight to behold.

His intelligent green eyes were opened as wide as humanly possible, drinking in the exotic views afforded him from the carriage window as he progressed deeper into the heart of the city. Each structure seemed almost more fanciful than the next as he moved through different districts. Artistry was clearly placed on a level of equal importance with functionality here.

That would certainly fit what he’d been told of D’Angelines, Ignis thought sardonically. The little he knew outside of books had been imparted to him along his journey, though he suspected many may have held back once they learned he was traveling under the auspices of House Courcel, the ruling family of Terre d’Ange.

Ignis had spent the last ten years of his life having his brilliant mind honed to razor sharpness by the finest Masters the University had to offer.

And now, all that training, those years of effort and hard work, was going to be wasted on tutoring a spoiled, pampered D’Angeline lordling. What use could the Dauphin possibly have of a Caerdicci scholar such as himself, specializing in ancient Hellene literature? And how was Ignis to continue his own studies, surrounded as he’d undoubtedly be by the profane debauchery he’d been told D’Angelines considered publicly appropriate?

He heaved a heavy sigh that would sound more appropriate coming from a man with twice his years and cleaned his glasses, wanting pristine vision when he came upon Elua’s Square. Ignis had heard the myth stating that Elua himself had planted the tree eons ago, and even if Ignis didn’t share the belief in the D’Angeline gods, he assumed that for a tree to have such a legend attached, it must be truly wondrous to behold.

And, oh, it was.

The branches had to span wider than the width of the average domus back home, Ignis mused in delight. He wondered if it was permitted to get closer, to examine, to touch the rough bark and daydream about the stories the ancient tree could tell if only it could speak?

He’d have to ask, after he’d taken time to settle in and acquaint himself with his duties.

And with the Dauphin.

Noctis Lucis de la Courcel was said to be a tempestuous young man. No doubt in part from his Shahrizai blood, the legacy of his father, the Prince-Consort. Noctis was heir apparent to Queen Aulea, and the common sentiment Ignis had heard expressed as he traveled the long road from the port in Marsilikos was a sincere hope that his mother’s more temperate manner would off-set the hotheadedness he’d inherited on his paternal side.

Ignis didn’t bother to bite back his dismayed groan. While he’d served as a tutor for years to supplement the small stipend provided by his family’s estate, up to this point his pupils had all been willing and eager students.

He had a sneaking suspicion the Dauphin would be something else entirely.

But, still. A job was a job, and he’d acquit his duty with the same high standards he performed all his tasks. To do anything less was beyond his purview.

Out the far side of the carriage, he spied a sprawling hill crowded with structures which at first glance, Ignis assumed were temples. And in truth, his initial assumption wasn’t terribly misplaced.

Mont Nuit had an ancient and storied history in Terre d’Ange. Home of the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers, the twelve houses devoted to the Service of Naamah, a pleasure-goddess said to be companion to their Blessed Elua.

Ignis feared he knew little else about the so-called Night Court, and he resolved to stay far away from that place. He could learn aught he needed of D’Angeline culture safely ensconced in the palace, certainly. Though, he wouldn’t mind bearing witness to the Longest Night Masque he’d read about, put on annually by Cereus House. That sounded like a truly notable spectacle. Even Ignis could relax enough to try a taste of _joie_ on such an auspicious occasion.

As the carriage drew nearer to the Royal Palace, Ignis’s jaw fell as he stared in unabashed wonder.

While Tiberium was home to some of the most well-crafted, ancient structures of the civilized world, surely the City of Elua could claim the most beautifully artistic.

And they used it as the seat of their government. How fitting.

His weeks-long journey finally at an end, Ignis stepped out of the carriage and stretched. It would be good to have a break from traveling. Servants carried away his luggage - he did hope it wasn’t too cumbersome, but he couldn't be certain what books they’d have here for him to work with.

Ignis waited patiently in the reception room he’d been delivered to by a serving man. He chose to stand after spending so much time sitting already, idly pacing around the chamber and admiring the artwork, touching the chairs and couches to feel the fineness of their fabrics. When he looked out the small window, he was able to catch a hint of the palace gardens, and he added them to his ever-growing list of places to visit.

As the sunlight shifted westward, Ignis felt a flare of irritation. He’d sent ahead letters. Surely, they knew he would arrive today. What could possibly be causing the delay?

As if in answer to his acerbic thoughts, a different servant entered the small chamber, bowing respectfully to Ignis. “If you’d follow me, please?”

“Certainly,” Ignis said calmly. It wasn’t the servant’s fault, after all, and he’d not take out his temper on someone who hadn’t inspired it.

He was led down so many winding hallways, Ignis feared he’d never be able to find his way back. The servant helpfully pointed out rooms of interest as they passed, but Ignis knew it would take careful study before he’d remember them all. Perhaps there was a map he could borrow for reference, until he had the layout memorized. Finally, he was halted before a large set of ornately-carved double doors.

“The Dauphin’s chambers,” the servant said obsequiously.

“Thank you,” Ignis said.

As the servant hastened off from whence they’d come, Ignis thought he heard muttered words… _good luck_?

Shaking his head, he decided that his fatigue was causing his mind to play tricks on him. Ignis knocked and awaited the doors opening, his face expectant but set in careful politeness.

That prim expression faded into annoyance as the minutes ticked away, the doors remaining sealed.

Perhaps D’Angelines weren’t so formal? Ignis had been brought here, after all, was he just to let himself in?

With an elegant shrug, Ignis decided to do just that. He could always plead ignorance of their customs if he’d surmised incorrectly.

The doors pushed open smoothly making not a sound, and Ignis was surprised to find the room behind them lay in darkness, despite the mid-afternoon hour.

His lips pulled down in an troubled frown. Was this some sort of jest? Had the servant delivered him to the wrong chambers? Ignis strode forward slowly, cautiously, unable to see much. The only illumination was the scant sunlight that filtered around the edges of thick drapes. He was grateful he had worn his spectacles, though in truth, they probably didn’t afford much help in this dimness.

There wasn’t much of note. A wardrobe, some bookshelves - painfully empty, in Ignis’s estimation, a small seating area holding couches and chairs.

Then he saw the bed.

It was a truly D’Angeline affair, looking large enough to hold a dozen people at once, draped with a fanciful canopy and laden with more pillows that Ignis thought he’d ever seen in his entire life, let alone all in the same place.

Was that…?

No. _No._ Certainly not.

The Dauphin was not sleeping during what was supposed to be their initial conference.

Ignis stepped closer to the mammoth bed and could practically feel the insulted anger light up his verdant eyes. That had to be Noctis curled up in a nest made of pillows, all pale skin and midnight hair.

He quickly averted his eyes when he realized the Crown Prince was completely nude.

Well. No. That wasn’t entirely accurate.

There seemed to be a silken crimson ribbon tied around the Dauphin’s phallus.

Ignis's flush was more embarrassment than anger, now, though his ire hadn’t entirely faded. He took a moment to consider how to handle this situation. While Ignis prided himself on preparing for every eventuality, having a plan in place for every possible scenario, this was something he hadn’t even begun to imagine.

The heap of pillows shifted, grabbing Ignis’s attention, and when he looked down, he felt his heart stutter uncomfortably.

 _Those eyes._ As rich as the sky at dusk, sparkling like the sea dappled by the mid-day sun. The deep azure hue was only emphasized by the pale beauty of Noctis’s milk-white skin. As Ignis observed the Dauphin stumble towards wakefulness, he watched as the tip of Noctis’s tongue slid across his thin lips, the pink surprisingly bright by comparison to the porcelain flesh framing that royal mouth.

Against his conscious will, Ignis felt his gaze drawn lower, noticing that contrary to his initial, cursory glance, the Prince wasn’t simply slender but lithe, the lines of his muscles more apparent as he writhed against the sumptuous bedding in a feline stretch.

And that bedecked cock was half-hard, as if even in sleep, the Dauphin’s body knew it was being looked at.

Being _admired._

The newly-appointed Royal Advisor and Tutor took a deliberate step backwards. Then another. He cleared his throat and spoke, his Caerdicci accent adding a crispness to his D’Angeline words.

“Your Highness.”

Sleepy eyes bored into Ignis’s with unerring precision once the Prince had roused himself enough to sit up.

As Ignis watched, Noctis’s gaze swept from the top of his ash-blonde head down to his utilitarian shoes, before journeying back up to meet his face. The once over was indolent, arrogant, performed with deliberate, sensual slowness.

As those cerulean eyes caressed his body - for Ignis couldn’t call it aught else, cursed D’Angelines - the scholar’s posture become even more proper, spine stiff, chin lifted.

“You must be Scientia,” Noctis drawled languorously. “I’m certain you’re tired from your long journey. Care to join me?” One ebony brow quirked in sardonic humor, but even Ignis could see the invitation was only half in jest.

“Thank you, no,” Ignis said, adjusting his glasses.

“Pity,” the Dauphin’s tone seemed to hold a bit of true regret upon hearing his new advisor’s response, but it was swiftly curtailed.

As Ignis stood there growing more discomfited by each passing moment, the Prince slid out of the bed’s warmth and staggered to his wardrobe, seemingly unashamed by the nudity that was only exacerbated by that damnable scrap of red satin.

“I don’t suppose you’ve helped a nobleman dress before?”

Emerald eyes blinked in consternation. “No. I have not.”

The Dauphin let out a frustrated sound. “Won’t come to bed, won’t help me dress, what use are you to me?” His voice was the haughty declamation of one used to getting his own way with alacrity.

Ignis walked towards the D’Angeline Prince, not bothering to keep the ire out of his voice. “I’ve studied with the most brilliant minds the Great University has to offer. I speak Caerdicci, D’Angeline, Hellene, and Skaldic _fluently_. I’ve studied tomes so ancient they nearly turn to dust beneath your fingertips. I’ve spent years applying myself to philosophy, diplomacy, sociology.” 

Now it was Ignis’s turn to let arrogance flourish in his raspy baritone.

He came to a halt a scant pace from the Dauphin, drawing himself up to his not-inconsiderable height and peering down over the rims of his glasses at the still damnably naked man. “I trained at the gymnasium and am skilled in hand to hand combat and with a variety of lances and daggers, as well. I also picked up basic field medicine, battle tactics, and tumbling in my time there. I even learned to cook during my weeks of travel to get here.”

“So, _my lord Dauphin_ ,” there was so much sarcasm wrapped around that title, it was a wonder Ignis didn’t choke on it, “There is _much_ I have to offer one such as yourself.”

“Perhaps a question better worth examining would be - are you worthy of utilizing even a fraction of it?”

Ignis feared he had gone too far as Noctis just stood there staring at him with those liquid eyes, garments forgotten where they were clutched in his hands so hard the fabric would surely be creased with wrinkles. Ignis didn’t often let his temper have free rein, and when he did, it generally landed him in hot water. Hopefully he hadn’t gotten himself dismissed before he’d even begun the first real day of his appointment to House Courcel.

He opened his mouth, an apology already composing itself in his mind, and abruptly snapped it back shut so forcefully his jaw ached.

The Dauphin’s cock had gone so hard it was nearly as red as that silken ribbon.

 _Gods._ These D’Angelines.

Ignis spun around, putting his back to the Prince, shoulders shaking with silent laughter. Or was it sobs? He couldn’t rightly tell.

“I’m sorry, Ignis,” Noctis’s voice was subdued. “I didn’t mean to insult you, truly.” His words were muffled by the rustling of fabric.

“I’m dressed now. You can turn around.”

Ignis did so a bit reluctantly, not sure what he’d find. He was pleased to note the Dauphin was now fully clothed in simple trousers and doublet slashed with the colors of his house.

He tried not to notice the bulge in those well-tailored pants, really, he did.

Noctis apparently saw him take notice, and a smirk twisted the young man’s lips, a wicked light gleaming in those sapphire eyes. “Terribly sorry, Ignis. You know how it is. ‘Sun’s up, dick’s up.’ An ancient D’Angeline proverb to start your education.”

“ _My_ education?” Ignis frowned, choosing not to reply to the obviously false proverb he’d been ‘taught’. “Highness, I’m here for _your_ education.”

“It would be a pity if you didn’t learn more about Terre d’Ange in the process, wouldn’t it?” Noctis’s voice was a sly temptation, a soft purr underlain by implacable iron. “It’s one thing to read about my country. To truly know it, you must experience all it has to offer.” The Dauphin offered Ignis what the advisor assumed was meant to be a winning smile, an expression that left Ignis feeling uncomfortably akin to the rabbit being sighted by the hawk. 

Well. This would be a challenge.

If he were honest with himself, Ignis wasn’t entirely certain it was one he was well-suited for. But he was a Scientia. He’d studied with the greats. He would see this Prince properly educated if it took him years to do so.

“‘All knowledge is worth having’,” he surprised Noctis by drawling out an actual, documented D’Angeline saying.

The Dauphin laughed and offered the first genuine grin Ignis had seen on the young man’s face. 

“Perhaps this won’t be so bad after all.”


	2. Two Artists and Many Arts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto draws friends into his life—and wonders if that includes Dauphins, too.

A year before Prompto stole a kiss from the Dauphin of Terre d’Ange, he sat on Night’s Doorstep with charcoal in hand, sketching.

The sun had made its way three quarters down its daily traversal of the sky. Prompto knew he’d run out of natural light to work by soon, but he didn’t mind too much. With no assignations tonight—and not many at all in the future, he noted somewhat glumly—it left him with ample time to pursue his other passion.

Art.

Night’s Doorstep bustled with activity at this hour. Laughing people filtered in and out of open tavern doors, arm in arm, cheeks flushed with ale or cheer or a little bit of both. Sometimes he saw the livery of the Palace Guard in the crowds, off duty soldiers seeking a moment of respite in bars or brothels. Rarer still were members of the noble Houses, their festivities relegated to private fêtes in the homes of the elite rather than the seedier counterpart of the Night Court.

Prompto caught glimpses of Night Court colours in the crowd, usually the exotic skin and silks of Jasmine House. Bryony adepts could be found on occasion too, as there was lots of coin to be had on Night’s Doorstep if you were smart about it and looked in the right places. There might be the one-off twilight blue robe of Cereus House or the imposing black and bronze of Mandrake House. Most of the adepts would congregate in the more reputable location of Mont Nuit as opposed here at the base of the hill, but you tended to see a little bit of everything from this vantage point.

That’s why Prompto liked it so much.

He brushed a strand of hair out of his face as he scanned the crowd, looking for something to bring to life on the blank page before him. What he drew depended on his mood. If he wanted to make a bit of coin, he’d venture into the city proper and offer to draw likenesses of passersby; they were usually quick, unpolished things, but Prompto found most people liked to see themselves portrayed favorably no matter the level of detail. He did that on Night’s Doorstep too from time to time, silly caricatures that emphasized a particular feature and made people laugh.

Prompto loved to make people laugh. He was, if he did say so himself, a hilarious young man. The decision on which House he would serve at had been a difficult one. Orchis and Eglantine appealed almost equally to him. In the end, though, it had come down to the idea of permanence.

Laughter was dazzling and magnificent. It could ease hurts, lift spirits, bring joy, and even provide a degree of healing. But a lot of times, Prompto felt, it didn’t last. The next day came, and the next, and the next, and before you knew it, you were bogged down and had forgotten all about that bright moment. Sure, more laughter might come—in fact, it absolutely would—but the cycle would just repeat. He would always have a soft spot for bringing joy and laughter to his friends, his patrons, and pretty much anyone he encountered. But dedicating his Service to Naamah to such a transient thing hadn’t felt right in his heart.

Art, however, lasted. It felt _right._

It was like being able to give a gift twice over. Once with his body, Naamah’s gift, and again with his art, _his_ gift. Or Blessed Elua’s gift, depending on how you looked at it. When he was free to choose the nature of his art, he compromised. He would find his client’s most joyful aspect, even if it wasn’t immediately obvious, and strive to capture that in their likeness. To give them a lasting memento of both their happiness and the love he bestowed upon them.

Prompto’s thoughts trailed off as his eyes latched onto a figure across the square. He almost missed her given her position in the middle of her companions, but when the crush of people shifted he got a clearer view. A girl with her friends on Night’s Doorstep wasn’t an odd occurrence in itself despite how young she looked. Prompto squinted to get a better look. When he did, his hand started to move across his sketchpad of its own accord.

The girl was at least part Cruithne, he was sure. Her smooth complexion was at least a few shades darker than the typical D’Angeline paleness. Her limbs were concealed under a billowy blouse and long skirt, so Prompto couldn’t properly make out if she had the Cruithne build as well. He wasn’t really interested in that part anyway. Her face captured his attention, his fingers flying across the page in practiced motions.

Prompto couldn’t help but think how he would mix pigments to get the shade of the girl’s hair just right. Brown was too flat of a description for the hue; there was a depth to the brown, an undertone that Prompto would need to experiment to get right if he were to paint her portrait. A cute button nose led to a pale pink, bow shaped mouth worthy of any adept. It was a mouth made for smiling, for laughing, for kissing, lovely and compact. He drew a few lines to represent the purple flower tucked behind one ear. 

But her _eyes_. Prompto left them for last because they demanded the most of his ability. Gorgeous, almond shaped affairs spaced a perfect distance apart. And the colour. If he had to pick a single word, he’d say they were amber, but they were so much more than that. Like sunset filtering through a glass of fine whiskey, or the caramelized crust of burnt cream. Prompto tried to memorize the hue for future reference as he drew, continuing his sketch.

He was so engrossed in adding detail to the drawing that he didn’t notice when she approached him.

“Hi there!”

Prompto started. His heart gave a few raucous beats before evening out. He looked up and found those delightful eyes regarding him with open curiosity.

“Hello,” Prompto said, smiling.

“You were staring, so I figured I’d come over and introduce myself. My name’s Iris,” the girl said, smiling back at him. Her D’Angeline was accented in a way that confirmed Prompto’s Cruithne suspicions.

“I’m Prompto. I hope you can forgive me if I was being rude, but I found myself inspired when you caught my eye,” Prompto said, his grin widening.

“See, this is why I _love_ coming to visit Terre d’Ange. There’s always something exciting no matter where you look." Iris lifted her hands and wiggling them back and forth in a motion Prompto found utterly endearing.

“Visiting? Where from?” Prompto asked politely.

“Alba. My mother is Cruithne but my father’s D’Angeline, so I go back and forth,” Iris craned her neck to get a better look at Prompto’s sketchpad. He held it up for her inspection.

“Wow, so you’re quite the traveler,” Prompto said. After giving Iris a few moments to consider the sketch, he spoke again. “How do you find the likeness?”

The expression of delicate wonder on the girl’s face made Prompto’s heart pulse with joy. Those wonderful eyes glittered with delight. He needn’t have asked how she found it—her face said it all.

“I love it! You’re so talented. Do you make your living as an artist? Or are you an adept of Eglantine House? Or do you just do this for fun?” Iris fired the questions off one after the other. Prompto laughed, delighted by her enthusiasm.

“A little bit of all three, I guess. I’m an adept of Eglantine House, but I haven’t made my marque yet. I do love drawing people and painting portraits, so I’d probably do it no matter what.”

“My brother’s an adept, too! That’s part of the reason I’m here to visit, to see him,” Iris said. Her bow-shaped mouth curled up into a coy smile as she placed her hands behind her back, swaying gently from side to side. “I bet he’d really like that picture, too.”

Prompto grinned. He wrote his name in neat, unobtrusive lettering in the corner of the sketch before carefully tearing it from the pad and handing it to Iris.

“A gift for you, then,” Prompto said. He didn’t think his grin could get any wider, but it did when Iris took the picture and literally jumped for joy.

“Oh, thank you, thank you so much, Prompto! I’ll treasure it always!”

She bent down and threw her arms around Prompto, peppering his freckled cheeks in a wave of enthusiastic kisses. Prompto laughed, patting her on the back a few times before she withdrew, sketch in hand.

“I should probably get back to my friends now. I’ll show them the picture. And my brother. And everyone! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Iris cried.

Prompto watched as she flounced back to her companions. True to her word, she waved the sketch at them, pointing in Prompto’s direction as she spoke with animated sweeps of her hands.

Prompto hadn’t intended to spend the rest of the daylight hours sketching a group of enthusiastic young women on Night’s Doorstep, but that’s what he ended up doing, and his heart felt lighter for it.

* * *

Life went on as usual afterwards, his meeting with Iris a pleasant but quickly fading memory. Eglantine’s Dowayne had allowed him to take a portrait commission for one of the members of House d’Aiglemort, so his schedule had become rather busy for the time being.

Prompto had undertaken a few assignations as well. Most notably, he’d been contracted by one of the girls who he’d sketched on Night’s Doorstep as a gift for her 18th birthday. Recalling the evening brought a warm smile to Prompto's face. It had been one of his favourite assignations in recent memory, the experience soft and kind and sweet, and her patron gift had been generous enough to afford him a trip to the marquist afterward.

On his first free day in a week, Prompto sat cross-legged in his quarters at Eglantine House. His chin rested on one hand and he held a paintbrush in the other; a second paintbrush rested between his lips, his brow scrunched in contemplation. A haphazard collection of pigments was spread out before him. Several small jars with their lids off were arranged in a circle around him. The acrid smell of linseed oil filled the air in his chambers, despite having both his door and small window open. Thinned paint dripped from the brush in Prompto’s mouth onto his trousers, but he didn’t seem to notice.

He’d been trying to get this blue right for _hours_. It kept evading him no matter what combination of pigment and thinner he tried, and while Prompto wasn’t the type to get surly when frustrated, he could feel the twinges of a headache starting right between his eyes.

A quiet knock on his cracked door drew his attention.

“Prompto, you have a visitor in the receiving room,” a servant said, nose wrinkling at the strong smell coming from Prompto’s room. Prompto’s golden eyebrows pinched together even more - he wasn’t expecting a visitor.

“Did they give their name? Also, which of these says ‘ocean’ more to you?” Prompto asked, holding up two scraps of paper with smears of blue on them.

“Gladiolus nó Balm. And I have no idea,” the servant said, retreating from Prompto’s doorframe.

A Balm adept? Huh.

Prompto divested himself of both paintbrushes before rising from his floor in a smooth motion. He was suddenly aware of his weathered clothing and paint-speckled hands—a quick glance in his mirror confirmed his face hadn’t escaped unscathed either. Oh well. It would take far too long to clean up, and Prompto found himself curious about his visitor.

When he reached Eglantine’s receiving room, there was only one person not otherwise engaged, and Prompto swallowed hard.

_Blessed Elua._

Prompto crossed the room to where Gladiolus sat on one of the couches. His tattooed arm rested along the back of the furniture, the blue swirls of woad complementing the green of the couch, and his legs were spread wide. He took up half the couch alone in that position. 

Gladiolus stirred when he saw Prompto approach and stood to meet him. The difference in their height was… astounding. Prompto tipped his head back to smile in what he hoped was a welcoming fashion.

“Gladiolus nó Balm,” Gladiolus said by way of introduction, his voice a bass purr, “You must be the Prompto of Eglantine House I’ve heard so much about.”

“That’s me all right. While it’s a pleasure to meet you, I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Gladiolus.” Their gazes locked - some quality about Gladiolus’s eyes niggled at Prompto’s memory, a memory that evaded him for the time being.

Gladiolus dropped a perfunctory kiss of greeting on Prompto’s lips, beard scratching against Prompto’s skin, before speaking. “Sorry, right. I should have written ahead, but I found myself with some free time today and wanted to stop by. You met my sister Iris a few weeks back.”

 _That_ was it. The eyes. Sunshine through whiskey. Iris’s eyes, the same ones that had captivated Prompto.

“Yes, right! I did a sketch of her on Night’s Doorstep the other day,” Prompto said, half to himself and half to Gladiolus. “Were you looking to commission a piece, then? A portrait of Iris, maybe?”

Gladiolus grinned in a way that made Prompto’s hands itch for something, anything to draw with so that he could capture the expression.

“Not a bad idea, but no, not exactly. I liked the look of the sketch and wondered if you would do one of me,” Gladiolus said, grinning at Prompto again, the gesture slow like drizzling honey. “I’d pay for your time, of course.”

 _Blessed Elua_ , thank you, _thank you_ , Prompto thought, for bestowing this gift on him today. Prompto had absolutely no intention of taking this man’s ducats - capturing his likeness would be payment enough. But he didn’t want to say that in Eglantine’s sitting room where it could be overheard. It wasn’t Bryony House, but turning down good coin would still be frowned upon.

“We can talk details, sure. Follow me,” Prompto said, beckoning Gladiolus with one hand as he started towards his quarters.

Once Prompto arrived at his door, he remembered the messy state he’d left his room in. Gladiolus almost ran into him as he came to a sudden stop in front of the door. He debated making Gladiolus wait outside while he cleaned up, but Prompto figured that might be ruder than letting him see the mess, so he pushed the door open wider.

“Sorry for the chaos… and the smell... in here, I was working on a project before you came,” Prompto said, sweeping in ahead of Gladiolus and beginning to clear his supplies off the floor.

Gladiolus chuckled. “It’s a different kind of bedroom smell than I’m used to, for sure.”

Prompto laughed at that, then wrinkled his nose as a thought occurred to him. “Oh, could you imagine the two mixed together? Gross, gross! I mean, mostly the oil smells gross, but I can’t imagine that it’d be enhanced by the _odeur de chambre_.”

“If you ever try it out with a patron, be sure to let me know,” Gladiolus said, settling himself into the modest armchair in Prompto’s room.

As Prompto finished the final touches on his cursory cleanup, he found the two scraps of paper with the different blue paints. On a whim, he turned to face Gladiolus and held them up.

“Hey, what do you think? Which one says ‘ocean’ more to you?” Prompto asked.

Gladiolus’s amber eyes narrowed as he considered for a moment. “The one on the left.”

“Huh,” Prompto said, flipping the coloured paper towards himself, “Why do you say that?”

“Dunno. Just what my gut says, I guess,” Gladiolus answered, giving a shrug that was far more graceful than his turn of phrase.

“Okay, fair point. Thanks for the input,” Prompto said, smiling and placing the left swatch aside to look at later. Prompto slid the wooden chair out from under his desk and placed it in front of Gladiolus so that he could sit as well.

“So, if you just want a sketch, I’m not going to charge any payment for it. I do those for fun and gave it to Iris for free,” Prompto said, crossing his legs as he regarded Gladiolus.

“You’re an adept who hasn’t made his marque yet and you’re turning down ducats?” Gladiolus asked frankly.

Prompto gave a nervous laugh and rubbed the back of his neck with a hand. “Well… yes, in this case I am. If I took payment, we might have to get the Dowyane involved, and then I might not be able to do it at all, and…”

“For the love of your art, then. Spoken like a true—if not business savvy—Eglantine adept,” Gladiolus said, kinder now, a smile playing about his lips.

“You know what they say. Love as thou wilt and all that, right?”

“Who am I to argue with Elua’s Precept? I trust your decision,” Gladiolus said.

Prompto had been doing so well at not blushing, but Gladiolus’s words finally caused a flush to heat his cheeks.

“Anyway! So! Did you want like, just your face like I did for Iris? Or were you thinking more of a,” Prompto paused to put his hands up, palms flat, and move them around in circles, “a whole body sort of thing?”

“Are you trying to get me naked?” Gladiolus asked… no, _rumbled_ , as he smirked at Prompto. 

Prompto at least laughed with his blush this time. “The thought of you naked _did_ cross my mind when you mentioned wanting a sketch. But no, I’m honestly asking your preference.”

“Maybe from the waist up then, if that’s okay? It’s my better half,” Gladiolus said, pausing before adding, “but not by much.” He winked at Prompto as he pulled his sleeveless tunic off over his head.

Prompto hadn’t known that his mouth could somehow go bone dry and water profusely at the same time, but that’s exactly what it did as he regarded Gladiolus’s upper half. How did anyone even _get_ that many abdominal muscles in the first place? And the _tattoos_. Prompto could stare at them forever, but unfortunately, he had a sketch to do.

Prompto got up from his chair and rummaged for his sketching supplies. Once Prompto had everything he needed, he set the materials down on the seat of his chair while he stood studying Gladiolus.

“Hmmm… okay. I got it. Can I touch your hair for a sec?” Prompto asked.

“Sure thing."

Prompto moved to stand beside Gladiolus and pulled his dark hair out of the lover’s-haste knot at the nape of his neck. It was as well kept as you’d expect from an adept of the Night Court, silky and smooth under Prompto’s fingers. He arranged it to lay across one of Gladiolus’s shoulders, curving around his collarbone as to obscure less of the woad tattoos inked into Gladiolus’s pectorals.

“I want to do a three-quarters view for this. If you can scoot your chair a bit to the side, that’ll work,” Prompto said. Gladiolus lifted out of the chair and pushed it so that it sat on an angle. When he sat back down, Prompto considered the pose for a minute before nodding.

“Perfect! That’s great, thank you,” Prompto said, picking his supplies up off the chair and then settling in to work.

He’d have to be dead not to feel any desire for the Balm adept in front of him, but it quickly faded as Prompto began to work. Once he had the initial lines necessary for the pose, he began to sketch in earnest, talking as he worked.

“You know, you’re like… the most un-Night-Courtly adept I’ve ever met,” Prompto said, smiling as he glanced up at Gladiolus for reference.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Gladiolus drawled. He was doing a good job at sitting still and staying faced in the direction Prompto had indicated.

“It was meant as one. You probably get this question a lot, but why Balm?” Prompto asked.

“Despite the scary foreigner appearance, I’m D’Angeline too. I find solace in the worship of Naamah like any other adept, and I find it most when I’m providing someone the comfort they need,” Gladiolus said. Prompto’s heart skipped a beat at the expression of reverence that passed over Gladiolus’s face; he quickly made some adjustments to his sketch.

“Plus, I fucking _love_ to cuddle. You’d be surprised how many people want that after all their stress has been melted out of them.”

Prompto had to take his charcoal from the paper because of how hard he laughed.

"You love to swear too, apparently,” Prompto said.

“That too,” Gladiolus agreed, “Though not around patrons. Unless they ask, of course. I’m _very_ accommodating.”

As Gladiolus’s likeness took shape on the paper below him, Prompto felt that same tickle of recognition at the back of his mind. Though they hadn’t met, he’d seen Gladiolus somewhere before—there was little mistaking his distinctive appearance.

The memory came to Prompto in a rush, heating his cheeks once more. How could he have forgotten?

“I know where I’ve seen you before. _Elua_ , you were the one at this past Midwinter Masque. With all the oil. Like, so much oil. And the _leather_.”

Gladiolus threw his head back and roared with laughter, breaking his pose for the first time.

“Yeah, yeah, that was me. Do you know how hard that shit was to get out of at the end of the night even with the oil? And how messy? There were some sheets that needed replacing at the end of that Longest Night,” Gladiolus said, shaking his head with a rueful smile.

“That’s not usually a look for me, but even I have to admit you pulled it off,” Prompto said. “It caused a weird phase with oil and body paint here at Eglantine for a week afterwards, and one highly entertaining—if questionably proportioned—sculpture.”

Gladiolus laughed again. “Honestly, that bit makes coming here today worth it, and I haven’t even seen the picture yet.”

“Almost done,” Prompto said.

They sat in companionable silence while Prompto finished the sketch. He only paused to grab a very thin bit of charcoal to draw in the feathery woad lines of Gladiolus’s tattoos with more detail. Once Prompto was satisfied with his work, he took the sketch over to his worktable to coat it in clear varnish so that it would be better preserved.

As he was about to brush the varnish on, he spied the pot of blue pigment that Gladiolus had identified as ocean coloured. Prompto opened the jar and dabbed his thumb in the paint, placing a line of delicate thumbprints down Gladiolus’s sketched arm, an evocation of the colour of the tattoos in life. He gently blew on the paper to help it dry. Once he was satisfied the paint wouldn’t smear, Prompto applied the varnish and, after waiting a suitable amount of time for that to dry as well, turned to Gladiolus.

“Ta-da!” Prompto said, presenting the sketch to Gladiolus. He’d focused most of the detail on Gladiolus’s profile looking off in the distance, but the few lines suggesting the chair that he was sitting in and the blue of the paint made nice finishing touches.

Gladiolus shook his head softly, something unreadable in his eyes. Prompto feared for a moment that he didn’t like the drawing, but then Gladiolus looked up at him with an expression both gracious and serious.

“If you have this much talent, Prompto, how have you not made your marque yet? You churned this out in, what, an hour while we sat here?”

Prompto blushed. He wasn’t used to people praising his work, even the clients that commissioned him—they expected the best and nothing less from the onset.

“Inexperience? Youth? A lack of business savvy? These adorable but imperfect freckles?” Prompto offered, bringing a finger up to point at his cheeks as he quoted Gladiolus’s words back to him.

Gladiolus stood and set the sketch down while he pulled his shirt back on. Prompto gave one last lingering farewell to his chiseled form before it disappeared from view. Once Gladiolus had the drawing in hand once more, he went to stand in front of Prompto.

“If you won’t accept ducats,” Gladiolus said, “Maybe you’d accept my friendship.”

Prompto blinked, taken aback by the request. Prompto loved people, was outgoing, and was well-versed in etiquette, but he didn’t have many people he could count as true friends. Spending so much time in Eglantine House had a little to do with it—there was still a degree of competition between adepts, after all. But mostly, he never seemed to be in the right place at the right time.

Naamah’s tits, he would _not_ cry over this!

“Yeah. Yeah, that sounds great, Gladiolus.”

“Good,” Gladiolus said, bending down to kiss Prompto goodbye, lingering a breath longer than his kiss of greeting. “Thank you again, Prompto. I’ll see you soon.”

Prompto glowed for hours after Gladiolus departed, humming a happy tune to himself as he worked at making a batch of the ocean blue paint.

Prompto was so engrossed in his work that he didn’t notice the pouch of ducats resting next to the base of his Naamah’s Hands sculpture. When he woke the next morning, he finally noticed, and _then_ he started to cry.

* * *

True to his word, Gladiolus did come visit him again. Over the course of the year, Prompto grew to consider Gladiolus one of his closest friends—if not his closest friend. Gladiolus was easy to talk to, understood the pressures of the Night Court, and served as a sort of mentor as Prompto worked towards earning his marque.

Prompto couldn’t figure out what Gladiolus saw in him, but he didn’t question it. At least, not too much. 

There was _no way_ Prompto could hold off on telling Gladiolus about his run in with the Dauphin. Prompto suggested meeting at their favourite tavern, the Violet Nightingale, on the first evening they both had free, and that’s where he currently waited.

He didn’t have to wait long before Gladiolus arrived. Gladiolus caught sight of Prompto immediately and headed towards the tucked away table he’d chosen, squeezing his larger frame through the early evening crowd.

“No, it’s okay, don’t stand. You’re pretty wedged in there,” Gladiolus said, leaning over to kiss Prompto in greeting. There was an audacious slide of tongue against Prompto’s lips, which made Prompto push against one of Gladiolus’s shoulders with a hand.

“Hey now, just because you came straight from an assignation doesn’t mean you can get cheeky,” Prompto said with a broad smile. Gladiolus settled down across from him with a quiet laugh.

“Sorry, Prompto. Guess I’m still a bit riled up, even after a bath far too cold for my liking,” Gladiolus said.

“It’s really hard to imagine you in a cold bath. Don’t you Balm Adepts lounge around in heated pools all day?”

“You know that’s not true,” Gladiolus said, grinning. One of the barmaids circled around and set an ale down in front of him, not needing to ask for his order. “I can practically see you shaking with excitement from here. What’s new?”

“You will _never_ guess what happened to me the other day. Never in a hundred million years, never in as long as Elua’s Oak has been growing.”

“No, I won’t, which is why I came. C’mon, Prompto, spit it out,” Gladiolus replied with a laugh.

Prompto lowered his voice conspiratorially, his pale violet eyes scanning the room. “I met the Dauphin. And I _kissed_ him. And it wasn’t at the Night Court.”

“No shit?” Gladiolus asked, his dark eyebrows lifting in genuine surprise. “How did you pull that off?”

“The same way you pull off staying at Balm House with that mouth on you,” Prompto said, giggling.

“Because it’s as talented as it is foul?” Gladiolus asked with a knowing smirk.

“Gladiolus!”

“Okay, I’m listening, I swear. Really, I have to know how that happened. I mean, the Dauphin has a…” Gladiolus searched for a polite word given their company, “Reputation. Of sorts. But if it wasn’t an assignation…”

“I asked him.”

Gladiolus had chosen an inopportune moment to take a pull of his ale, and he choked on his drink, coughing furiously. Prompto leapt up from his seat to thump Gladiolus on the back a few times as he recovered. When he could speak again, he leveled an impressed look at Prompto.

“Maybe I’ve been a good influence on you, after all. You honestly just… asked the Dauphin for a kiss? Straight out?”

“Yup. I mean, well, he did almost run me over first, but he apologized after. He had the scary Cassiline with him so I almost didn’t ask, but then I did, and then he kissed me.”

“I’m proud of you, Prompto. Look how far your confidence has come. I don’t think when we first met you’d have the stones to ask the Dauphin of fucking Terre d’Ange to kiss you, no offense.”

“None taken,” Prompto said, a faint blush of pride creeping into his cheeks.

“What was he like? What was it like?”

Prompto thought for a moment. “Nice, I suppose. He was very… haughty? But also a little awkward? Very pale. A lot like someone took the night sky and made it into a person, and as beautiful as people say he is.”

“Good kisser?”

“It wasn’t a long kiss, but I guess he was. But what I really wanted to ask you about was something he mentioned before he left.”

Gladiolus raised an eyebrow in question.

“When I mentioned I did portraits, he seemed a bit interested. I know he doesn’t have one in the Palace yet because I’ve gone to see them—what, don’t look at me that way, it was professional curiosity,” Prompto said at the skeptical look Gladiolus shot him, “So I thought maybe I’d ask to do one of him. If you thought it was a good idea.”

“Naamah’s tits, Prompto, of course it’s a good idea. Do you have any idea how many ducats you’d get for a commission of a _royal portrait_? I’d bet my entire library that you’d be able to finish your marque and then some.” Gladiolus was doing that thing with his hands that Prompto couldn’t quite place, lifting them in the air and waving them like he was trying to summon a demon.

Prompto nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I just… I don’t know. How would I even ask? I can’t waltz up to the Palace like it’s Eglantine House.”

“Write him to ask. If you don’t want to ask in writing, write to request an audience so that you can ask in person. Shit, make an excuse to go gawk at his new Caerdicci tutor like everyone else is doing. Waltz up to the Palace if you have to,” Gladiolus said, voice low and serious.

“You’re right, I know. But am I even good enough to do it? The last thing I want is to ruin my reputation if it isn’t up to royal standards,” Prompto mused, fingers laced on the table before him.

Gladiolus placed one hand over both of Prompto’s, a stern expression on his face.

“Prompto. I’m not gonna listen to you say you’re not good enough, because you know that’s not true. If you don’t do it, someone else will, and then all you’re gonna do is regret that you never tried.”

Prompto took a deep breath and closed his eyes. When he opened them, there was the sharp edge of determination in their violet depths.

“Okay. I’m going to try.” The only thing left to figure out was how.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Comments and kudos are always appreciated.
> 
> Up next week: Ignis's education about the culture of Terre d'Ange continues...


	3. A Poor Showing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignis and Noctis see the same thing in two very different ways.

Breath heaving and heart pounding, Ignis felt what could only be described as a feral grin spread his lips. He was showing his teeth in a rare display of unbridled good humor - sparring always put him in a far better mood.

And all the Gods of _every_ pantheon knew he damn well needed it after his attempted lessons today.

Ignis felt he had started to fall into a good rhythm over his first few days at the Royal Palace. He woke early, as was his custom, and took a morning constitutional around the sprawling gardens. After his breakfast and morning ablutions were complete, he went to his study to await the Dauphin, who rarely showed up before mid-afternoon. While initially that had frustrated Ignis, he now chose to look at it as generosity disguised by laziness. 

Noctis’s tardiness meant he had several hours to pursue his own studies, and Ignis relished the opportunity to work uninterrupted.  
Today, unaccountably, Noctis had awoken earlier than was his norm, which meant he had pushed his way arrogantly into Ignis’s study right after a servant had dropped off the advisor’s lunch.

“Good morning,” Noctis had greeted him, apparently just as ill-mannered at mid-day as he was later on, given how he swiped half of Ignis’s sandwich without so much as a ‘please’.

Ignis contented himself with a quiet sigh, narrowly avoiding rolling his eyes in a manner unbecoming of his own status - and, furthermore, inappropriate to level at a member of the D'Angeline royal family. He did pull the plate closer and take a bit from what was left of his lunch, and he didn’t even care about how unsubtly he was marking his territory.

His _territory_? Gracious, it was just a sandwich.

“Shall we start on today’s lesson?” Ignis asked politely between bites.

“Sure,” Noctis responded, not bothering to chew and swallow first. He sprayed crumbs over Ignis’s desk and the tutor felt his ire rising. The only outward sign was the slight tightening of his lips.

This time he couldn’t help it. Ignis’s eye roll was deliberate and expressive.

“Today we’ll continue working on your Caerdicci.” Ignis adopted the even tone of the experienced pedagogue. “Please recite the verb conjugations we went over yesterday.”

Noctis looked at him wearing an expression of astonishment. “We went over that _once_. You think I remember it?”

Ignis felt a vein pulsing at his temple. “I see.” He tried taking a different path. “What do you remember from yesterday’s lesson, then?”

His Highness’s face screwed up in concentration, and just before he spoke, the blaze of joy in those brilliant sapphire eyes really should have warned Ignis.

“I remember the way your ass looked in those hosen,” Noctis purred. “And the way the sunlight highlighted your hair where it fell over your glasses frames.” The Prince ticked each item off on his fingers, as if counting. “You swore at me in three languages, I think - quite impressive, I might add - when I took my fourth break.” After a short pause of consideration he continued, “And you demanded I give you twenty ducats to replace the book I spilled my wine in.”

With a self-satisfied smirk, the little brat asked, “Does that about cover it?”

Ignis was on his feet before he had consciously decided to move. “Get. Out. _Now_.” He took a deep, ragged breath and tried to calm himself. “No lessons today. I need to finalize my teaching plan.”

Noctis's snicker as he left the study was the Prince’s only response. Obviously he wasn’t going to argue at gaining an afternoon free of academia.

Ignis had not, in truth, spent much time that afternoon on the curriculum. He’d had that all well plotted out before he left Tiberium.

Instead, Ignis took to the practice yard, having obtained permission from the Queen and King once he listed his credentials outside the realm of academia.

And there he was now, working up a good, healthy sweat, using a polearm borrowed from the castle armory. He faced off against one of the Palace Guards, a young man named Libertus. Ignis had been momentarily pleased at the prospect of facing one of his own countrymen, but sadly, despite the naming convention, his opponent was 100% D’Angeline.

That was only a minor regret, however, for the match was proving to be a delightful challenge. Far more enjoyable than the vexing, daily challenges from the Dauphin.

“Hey!” Libertus yelled when Ignis pressed forth with an especially vicious barrage, fueled by memories of the Prince. “Watch it! We’re training!”

“My apologies,” Ignis murmured, bowing his head in contrition. Apology made, he sprang into a backflip, putting some distance between himself and the guardsman. “Perhaps I should turn my attentions - and my temper - against one of the training dummies.”

“Good idea,” Libertus grumbled.

As Ignis watched the other man walk away with a bit of a limp, he winced. He hadn’t meant to go that hard, truly. But Ignis had to vent his anger somehow, since it would be unprofessional to lose his temper with the Dauphin.

He set about doing exactly what he had proposed to his former sparring-partner, though he traded the lance for a matched set of daggers, feeling more confident at going into melee-range without the fear of harming a flesh-and-blood person.

If he betimes imagined Noctis’s smirking face on the blank canvas sack propped at the top of the mannequin, well, even he was entitled to petty thoughts, so long as he kept them locked away inside his mind where they belonged.

“Scientia!” He heard his name called out in the unmistakable tenor of the Dauphin, and the sweet inflection imbued in those syllables put up his hackles at once.

“Highness?” he responded cautiously, wondering what it was now.

“Enough training for today,” the Prince said flippantly as he sauntered over, wearing an expression that raised Ignis’s blood pressure merely to behold. “You need to go bathe.”

Ignis arched an eyebrow. “I took a bath this morning.”

Noctis frowned, as if bewildered that Ignis was arguing this point. “You need to go take another one, then. And put on your best clothes. You’ll be representing House Courcel, after all, and I can’t have you reflecting poorly on our image, foreigner or not.”

Ignis wasn’t certain whether he should feel insulted or confused, a commingling of emotion he often felt when in the Dauphin’s inimitable presence.

“At which function,” he ventured with as much politeness as he could muster, “am I representing House Courcel?”

Noctis’s smile now held all the pleasure of the cat having successfully ensnared the canary. “A Showing.”

* * *

Noctis took his own advice, having his servants draw him a bath scented with jasmine oil, luxuriating in the tub for nearly an hour as his hair was scrubbed and his nails were trimmed. 

Once he had toweled off, more servants were prepared with various clothing options for his perusal. Feeling piquant, he went with simple black trousers and a brilliant crimson shirt - he hoped it would remind Ignis of their first meeting. In case the message wasn’t being sent boldly enough by his tunic, he also chose to bind back his hair in a simple tail restrained by that same satin ribbon from before, eschewing the multitude of braids in favor of the softer look.

After all, depending on how the evening went, he might have the opportunity to feel hands in his hair later, and the feel of fingers combing through his unbound mane was far more sensuous than the click of his braids.

Noctis had chosen Cereus House in an unabashed display of pride in his country’s history. Cereus was the first House established on Mont Nuit, and ruled over the Night Court in an unofficial fashion that was very well recognized by its other denizens. He knew that Aurore would only offer up her most prized courtesan for the Prince’s entertainment, especially for something as profoundly important as a Showing.

The adept’s name was Lunafreya. Noctis had contracted her services for an assignation once before, on his 18th birthday, along with her consort-to-be, Nyx nó Heliotrope, who was still in service to his House. It was said she had made her marque at the tender age of 19, and had designs to open up her own salon in partnership with Nyx. The Dowayne had been almost apoplectic at the unseemliness of the situation when she explained to Noctis that since Lunafreya was a free adept, she had chosen to bring in her Heliotrope lover for the Showing, rather than partnering with another of her own House. The thought of it made Noctis a bit dreamy. To combine the ephemeral canon of Cereus with the devotion of Heliotrope, entwined by the passion of actual lovers whose attentions Noctis had enjoyed…

Yes. Noctis would _definitely_ secure an invitation to that Grand Opening. He made a mental note to leave a sizable patron gift to help the adepts move forward with their enterprise.

Naamah’s tits, he was starting to genuinely look forward to the Showing itself, and not only to the reactions of his prissy Caerdicci tutor.

After one final check in the mirror to ensure his appearance was perfection, Noctis strode forth from his chambers, hoping Ignis was not only ready but appropriately garbed for once.

Maybe he’d wear those tight little hosen, and Noctis could ‘accidentally’ drop his purse again.

* * *

The carriage ride across the city was over far too quickly for Ignis’s taste.

He’d attempted to make conversation with Noctis, asking him what a Showing was - for Ignis could hear the capitalization when Noctis used the word. It was clearly an event of some import, and he wished to know more prior to their arrival so he could ensure he conducted himself appropriately. Noctis was frustratingly closed-lipped on the subject, however, only telling Ignis something vague about it being an important spiritual ritual in D’Angeline society.

Very well. While Ignis didn’t share the Dauphin’s belief in Elua and His Companions, perhaps this was the Prince’s way of extending an olive branch and beginning to forge a more appropriate student/teacher relationship. As such, Ignis would treat this religious ceremony with the respect it deserved. Perhaps he’d gain greater insight into the deep, visceral bond the D’Angelines seemed to share with their patron deities.

Ignis felt the carriage slow to a halt, and mentally prepared himself to walk into what was, underneath the fancy window-dressing, a glorified whorehouse.

“Follow me. And try not to look so annoyed.” The Dauphin’s voice was shockingly serious and Ignis took note.

“Yes, Highness.” Ignis made an effort to smooth his features, assuming the polite mask he wore when listening to a particularly slow learner try and recite their lessons.

As he walked through the foyer of Cereus House, however, that disinterested mien fell away to an expression of stark wonder. Gods, but this was a place of beauty. The decor was tasteful but surpassingly elegant. Ignis was surprised more guards weren’t evident, for some of the pieces of art must surely be worth thousands of ducats. Ignis noted that while the garb was different in degrees of fineness, all the servants and initiates wore robes of twilight blue, the color evoking the ethereal moment when the sun had fallen below the horizon but true night had not yet taken hold.

A regal woman who looked to be well past the blush of youth and firmly into the latter portion of her middle years approached, and when Ignis saw Noctis bow deeply, he was quick to follow suit.

“My Lady Dowayne,” Noctis said respectfully. “My tutor, Ignis Scientia of Tiberium.”

When the lady’s steely blue eyes focused on him, Ignis bowed his head briefly. “My Lady.”

“Be welcome to Cereus House, Dauphin, Messire Scientia.” Her voice was as soothing as the wind in the willows, her timbre one that ensnared you from the moment she parted those dusky lips and would stay with you long after the moment of her speech had passed. In short, the epitome of her house.

“It is my most sincere hope that you enjoy the Showing, and Naamah’s Blessing be upon you both.”

Ignis joined the Prince in murmuring words of gratitude, and then followed the Dowayne into a large chamber hung with thick drapes a shade deeper cerulean than the hue of the initiates’ robes. There was an honest-to-goodness stage in the center of the room, raised and prominent, containing naught but a large bed. Around the room in rising rows, reminding Ignis of nothing so much as the Coliseum in Tiberium, were seats mostly empty, though as he glanced about he saw adepts, initiates, and even servants were gathering. Apparently this rite was open to any of the House who wished to attend, he noted, following as Noctis led them to seats that were about halfway up and dead center.

He was starting to get an idea that this spiritual ritual might not be at _all_ to his taste, judging not only by the massive four-poster, but Noctis’s sly smile. Ignis attempted to again ask Noctis what exactly was going to happen, but the Dauphin hushed him as the lights began to dim.

Ignis saw a lovely woman walk out with a steady gait, looking neither left nor right, but keeping her visage turned forward. Her bold eyes were the color of sylleblossoms at the height of their season, framed to perfection by the flawless ivory of her skin. Her face was devoid of cosmetics, and truly, she did not need them.

From opposite her path, a tall man strode forward with a smile wreathing his handsome features. He may not be moving with the ethereal grace of the lady, but his step was sure, and as they two closed the distance between them, Ignis heard the quiet roll of a drum, the reedy whisper of a flute.

As Ignis watched, the two adepts began removing each other's clothing, fingertips trailing over each patch of exposed skin with reverence. Embarrassment painted his pale complexion a crimson nearly as gaudy as the Dauphin's shirt.

Firmly setting his eyes about a foot above the space holding the Servants of Naamah, Ignis prayed to Caerdicci gods he’d never truly believed in that this would be done quickly.

Was nothing private to these D’Angelines? Loveplay was supposed to be _private_ between a man and a woman, not acted out in lurid detail on a stage for all to see.

A sharp elbow jabbing into his side pulled him from his indignant thoughts. Looking to the Dauphin, Ignis was surprised to see genuine anger on those finely-chiseled features.

“You’re embarrassing me,” Noctis hissed under his breath. “Conduct yourself appropriately.”

Ignis’s flush darkened at the chastisement. How was he supposed to act when presented with such a spectacle? A surreptitious glance around was no help, in the dimness of the room he could just barely make out the nearest neighbors and they seemed to be staring at the stage in rapt attention.

He took a deep breath. Ignis had seen truly horrible things in his life. He’d studied at the field hospital, helped stitch grievous wounds. Surely he could give this the same level of detached attention.

Focusing determined jade eyes on the pair currently locked in a full-body embrace, Ignis clinically noted both seemed to be in good health, not carrying an ounce of fat on their lithe frames. The woman’s marque was beautifully rendered, a splash of color on the alabaster canvas of her graceful back.

The male adept was equally entrancing, Ignis realized. His eyes were a more watery blue than the woman’s, but Ignis could tell even from his vantage point they were filled with a depth of devotion Ignis had never seen in any of his paramours’ eyes. His brown hair was a mixture of thin braids and loose strands, all pushed back to leave clear the view of what even Ignis could admit was a devastatingly handsome face.

With more struggle than he’d ever admit aloud, Ignis tore his gaze away from the male adept’s smiling lips, returning his focus to the Showing as a whole. He saw the adepts move to the bed, still entwined in each others arms, though after a moment they parted and the male laid down on his back. Ignis’s jaw dropped in disbelief when he saw the female adept climb over the man’s body, lowering her sex onto his face even as she bowed forward to wrap her lips around his engorged phallus.

No. Ignis was wrong, he _couldn’t_ do this. This was too vulgar, too debasing. Noctis must have arranged this with the Dowayne, paid an exorbitant amount of money just to humiliate him. And here he had hoped this invitation had been a gesture of good will.

Ignis rose to his full height and glared at the Dauphin. “I think I’ve endured quite enough of your ‘fun’ for one evening,” he spat the words viciously. Ignis did remember his social niceties enough to turn to the Dowayne and offer a respectful bow. “My lady.”

With that, Ignis left the salon, deciding to await Noctis in the antechamber off the foyer where they’d initially met the Dowayne.

* * *

Noctis was enraptured, staring in unabashed wonder at the Servants of Naamah. Yes, they were gorgeous, yes, they were naked, but that wasn’t what had the prince so captivated, no.

It was the way they moved together, as if two halves of one whole. Every step was part of a dance, perfectly in time with the soft music filling the chamber. Every gasp was a song set to the cadence of the beating hearts of all those gathered to bear witness.

Shooting a sidelong glance at his tutor, he frowned, anger momentarily taking the place of his growing bliss. There was something truly lovely, Noctis thought, about way two Adepts came together. Sacred and beautiful, carnal and divine. A ritual as old as Terre d'Ange. So why did Scientia look like he smelled something foul?

“You’re embarrassing me,” Noctis kept his voice quiet, not wanting to interrupt the rite. “Conduct yourself appropriately.”

The Dauphin watched as the male adept—Nyx—reclined on the lavish bed, spectacularly erect.

And oh, wasn’t that interesting? Scientia was watching the Heliotrope Adept, not the Cereus. Noctis filed that bit away for later, not wanting his thoughts to eclipse the Showing.

Turning scintillating sapphire eyes to the Lady Lunafreya, Noctis’s breath caught in his throat as her eyes seemed to land on his for just a moment, sweet and brief, before she turned her attention back to her lover. The woman tugged a pin from her hair, allowing it to fall about her shoulders like a golden mantle.

The Dauphin couldn’t look away as he watched her rise over Nyx, simultaneously presenting him with her slick folds and tossing her head forward to trail her loosened tresses over his thighs, swirling the saffron strands around his cock in a way that made Noctis’s own ache in need.

Noctis saw Lunafreya’s body tense and knew Nyx had found her Pearl of Naamah, the seat of a woman’s pleasure. He smiled happily, leaning back in his chair and watching contently as the two adepts paid homage to both Naamah and Elua, sharing their love with all assembled.

His focus was broken by his advisor, again. This time the Caerdicci had the temerity to stand up, bold as brass, blocking the view of those in the rows behind them.

“I think I’ve endured quite enough of your ‘fun’ for one evening,” Ignis sneered at Noctis, before offering a perfunctory acknowledgement to the Lady Aurore. When the tutor stalked off, it reminded Noctis of nothing more than an angry cat; he could practically see the invisible tail lashing in Ignis’s wake.

Noctis shot the Dowayne an apologetic look and in his mind, the sum of his patron-gift just doubled. He should tithe it from Scientia’s pay. Imagine, standing up and leaving in the middle of a Showing! Did the man know _nothing_ of proper decorum? If the irony of Noctis’s anger at Ignis’s behavior when laid against all of the Prince’s deliberate acts of disrespect occurred to him at all, it was hidden beneath the righteous anger of having had one of his religion’s most profound ceremonies tainted by the outlander’s disgust.

This certainly clinched the fact that while Noctis had paid for it, he wouldn’t be able to join the adepts for a more private assignation after the Showing. He was far too angry to do so. Truth be told, he wanted little more than to chase down his tutor and whip him until he bled, and for once the Prince’s mind was devoid of lust when thinking of dishing out such pain.

Noctis tried to settle his thoughts and enjoy the remainder of the Showing, but it was a lost cause. He made sure to applaud with the rest when at last the ritual was complete, painting an appropriately pleased smile on his face when the two adepts turned to see how the Dauphin had enjoyed their display. Noctis thanked each of them personally, exchanging kisses that he desperately wished he was in the mood to turn into more, and passed them both fat purses of ducats as patron-gifts. He slipped a final, extra purse to Aurore, and knew the Dowayne wound understand why without him elaborating.

“Let me speak with him,” the Lady surprised him by suggesting. “He’s not the first Caerdicci I’ve encountered - nor shall he be the last with trade flourishing as it does.”

“Fine,” Noctis said a bit curtly. Remembering himself, he bowed his head. “I will heed your wisdom on this. Please send him back to the Palace when you’re through.”

“Cereus will be pleased to see the Royal Tutor safely home,” she promised, brushing a parting kiss to his forehead.

“Thank you, my Lady.” Noctis took his leave of her, skillfully slipping through the foyer without catching Ignis’s attention. When he made it to the waiting carriage, he ordered the driver to take him home.

He needed air.

* * *

Ignis was none too patiently sitting on a couch in the salon of Cereus House. He had his legs and arms crossed; every fiber of his body language screamed ‘leave me alone’ to even the newest of the initiates, and so the household gave him a wide berth. Imagine his surprise to feel a hand rest on his shoulder firmly.

Turning, he startled noticeably to see the Dowayne standing behind him. “My Lady,” Ignis managed with only the slightest stammer of surprise. He rose and offered her the bow her rank required, saying nothing else for now.

Noctis wouldn’t’ve have gone this far… Ignis’s mind began to whirl, and something of his horror must have gleamed in those striking emerald eyes, for the Dowayne gave a wry chuckle at his discomfort.

“Calm yourself, Messire. I merely wish to speak with you. If you’ll follow me?”

Her steely tone left nothing up for debate, and so Ignis found himself strolling side-by-side with the Lady Dowayne, until they entered a room that must be her study, or office, or whatever term a brothel-mistress applied to the chamber she used to conduct business best kept away from the bedchamber.

Ignis sat in the chair she indicated, watching as she seated herself behind her desk, her bearing reminding him of Queen Aulea on her throne in the formal receiving room.

“You seemed quite taken aback by our Showing,” Aurore’s voice was pleasant, conversational. Her timbre invited honesty and promised no judgement.

“His Highness did not explain to me what the… ritual… would entail,” Ignis elaborated carefully, not wishing to offend this woman who, in her own way, held as much power as most noble Heads of House.

The Dowayne’s laugh this time was rueful. “Our Dauphin will play his games. But it was not well-done that you attend unknowing. I am sorry.” Her eyes were as sincere as her voice, and it made Ignis feel sick to recall how he had thought her complicit in the Dauphin’s plan.

“I am the one who must needs tender an apology,” Ignis said decisively. “I acted undecorously and interrupted your ceremony. I’m sorry.”

The corners of Aurore’s eyes crinkled, and she waved a hand gracefully. “Let us put that unpleasantness behind us.”

“May I ask why you wished to speak with me?” Ignis’s voice was steeped in curiosity.

“I thought you might appreciate a more informal discussion to learn about the Night Court, since the Showing was not to your liking.”

He had to admit it was a generous offer. “I appreciate the sentiment, my Lady, but I’m not sure I require further knowledge. Meaning no disrespect, but my duty here is to educate the Prince.” Ignis’s lips twisted wryly. “He certainly seems to know more than enough about Mont Nuit already, so…”

Aurore shook her head, and spoke up in contradiction. “I do not speak of the Dauphin, Messire. I speak of you, yourself. If you have designs to stay in our land for any length of time, you really should supplement the gaps in your education.” Her own smile was somehow both prideful and self-deprecating. “I’m offering to share my knowledge. I shan’t offer again.” A beringed hand stirred the air. “Ask what you will.”

Ignis begrudgingly admitted there was wisdom in her words. And since she was willing to speak on such things in an academic matter, he decided to take advantage of it.

They spoke for near on two hours, and Ignis was startled to find out just how intricate the Night Court was. It seemed almost its own world, a microcosm within the City of Elua, where pleasure was priority, and sexuality was sacred. The Dowayne spoke of the proper way to arrange an assignation, of the rare tokens the Head of a House was able to give out as they chose, for a price or for naught but good-will. She assured Ignis that Blessed Elua’s precept was law - nothing would pass between adept and patron that either wished to halt, at any time, with but a word. While only Mandrake and Valerian wrote the _signale_ into their contracts, in all other Houses a simple ‘stop’ or ‘no’ would suffice. And the patrons were expected to accede with alacrity should their chosen Servant utter such, regardless of how much coin they had spent to secure their allotted time.

It soothed Ignis’s mind to learn how incredibly different the Court of Night-Blooming flowers was compared to the whorehouses in Tiberium. He hadn’t truly reckoned just how seriously D’Angelines took these matters, given his only example had been Noctis’s rude displays.

He stood, giving her a more formal bow than before. “Thank you, truly, for your time, my Lady.” His voice was sincere, and his eyes shone with earnestness.

“You are welcome, Messire,” she said. “If I may offer one parting bit of advice?”

“Of course.”

Ignis could tell her words were chosen with very deliberate care, but while her cadence was reserved, her timbre rang with confidence. “You’re in Terre d’Ange, Ignis.”

He was momentarily off-guard at hearing his given name, none having used it since the day of his arrival. Ignis hearkened unto her words as she continued to speak.

“You’ve been comparing our land disfavorably to yours, but consider for a moment,” her eyes were canny. “Here, under Blessed Elua’s law, you are truly free to love as you will, in whatever fashion you so choose.”

Ignis’s mind flashed back to an image of that Heliotrope adept, only in his mind’s eye it wasn’t Lunafreya being embraced, but his own self.

Unease set his stomach churning, and he sat up straighter, as if good posture could bely the blush highlighting the sharp angles of his cheekbones. “I thank you for your advice, my Lady Dowayne.”

This time, when Aurore laughed, Ignis could see a hint of the girl she once must have been sparkling in those fathomless eyes. “I hope that you take it, lad.” She rose and beckoned for him to follow. “Come. One of my carriages will see you safely to the Palace.” Her expression transformed from regal smile to mischievous grin. “I do hope you’ll patronize Cereus House again.”

* * *

Noctis burst out of the carriage before it had fully come to a stop. He didn’t bother pausing to thank the driver, knowing his mood was broadcasting loudly enough from his tense body language that the man wouldn’t expect Noctis to linger in idle chatter. He stormed his way up to his private chambers, slamming the doors shut behind him as best he could, though they were so ponderous the best he could manage was to smack his palms against the thick wood once they had slid quietly shut.

Ow. That fucking _hurt_.

With a muttered curse, Noctis waved his hands around in mid-air foolishly, as if that would help ease the sharp pain lancing down from wrist to fingertips. He opted not to tend to the wounds, letting the scant traces of blood dry on on his palms.

It suited his mood.

He stalked around his bedchamber restlessly, considering a variety of ways to calm himself down, and rejecting them all. Cor had always stressed upon him the importance of coming to the sparring-field in even temper, and he didn’t want to risk anyone’s safety with his temper. Too, the fact it was approaching midnight made such things decidedly dangerous.

Noctis again debated the merits of visiting Valerian House, but he knew that would be a mistake of magnificent proportions in his current head-space.

He considered taking a walk, but even the Dauphin didn’t have the arrogance required to wake up his guardsmen from their much deserved slumber, and he didn’t feel like courting his parents’ wrath if he were to go out alone.

An unexpected knock at his door startled him out of his dark reverie, and piqued his curiosity.

When he answered the door, eyes of liquid sapphire blinked in confusion to see a servant bearing a tray, holding a single folded sheet of white paper, embossed with an Eglantine blossom of all things.

 _Eglantine…_ Noctis eyes widened dramatically and he snatched at the paper greedily, shutting the door without so much as a gracious word, so impatient was he to see what this missive contained.

He stood there, his back pressed to the heavy wooden door, and broke the seal, reading it over. It didn’t take long, the letter was succinct. He read it a second time, then a third, a fourth. With each review, his lips quirked closer to a smile, and those luminous azure eyes brightened.

_My lord Dauphin,_  
Forgive me for being bold, but you seemed interested when I mentioned my expertise with portraiture. If it would please you, I would welcome the opportunity to paint your portrait.  
Prompto nó Eglantine 

Noctis’s smile was fully-bloomed now, and the Prince was nigh on radiant with joy.

His mother had prodded him again the other day about the distinct absence of his image in the Hall of Portraits delineating generations of Courcels. Perhaps it was time he rectified that.

Adjourning to his study, he penned a quick inquiry to the Dowayne of Eglantine House, requesting the services of Adept Prompto to attend him a few days hence at the Royal Palace for the suggested commission. After giving orders to a servant that the letter was to be carried at daybreak, not one _moment_ later, Noctis returned to his bedchamber and readied himself for slumber. He scattered his finery on the floor without a care - the clothes had served their purpose, what matter if they wrinkled now - and climbed into his luxurious bed.

Now that his mood had brightened, he was painfully aware of how spaciously empty that bed was. Shrugging pale shoulders indolently, he wrapped a hand around his half-hard cock and began to stroke himself leisurely, thinking of lavender eyes and a sunny smile as he brought himself over the edge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please accept our deepest thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are love, love, love.
> 
> A quick note on Ignis's behavior: in this AU, he was born and raised in a country where anything other than procreative sex is regarded extremely poorly. As evidenced by the tags on this fic, he'll get there, but... slow burn...
> 
> Last but not least, you can expect updates weekly (every Saturday) from here on out with the occasional bonus update as progress permits. Thanks again for reading - we love you all!


	4. Brothers and Sisters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ravus has a discussion with Lunafreya. Gladiolus pays Iris and Clarus a visit.

The waves of anger rolling off Ravus Nox d’Aiglemort were so pervasive, servants and initiates alike scurried away as he strode through Cereus House’s common room as if he owned the place. A brave adept approached him to inquire after his business, and Ravus had no patience for these Night Court niceties.

“Where’s Lunafreya?” he snarled the question, eyes roiling like storm-clouds gathering to obscure the sky. They were startling eyes - his best feature, one could argue, though he’d’ have never gained admittance to serve as an adept had he tried with the blatant imperfection. One was the clear blue of a morning sky, the other the deep purple of dusk. At present, both simmered with rage.

“I’m here, brother.” Lunafreya d’Aiglemort nó Cereus waltzed into the salon with the grace of a swan floating on a glassy pond. The serenity of her gait was belied by the frustrated temper glinting in cobalt eyes and the hard set of her unpainted mouth.

The nameless adept made a hasty retreat as the siblings crossed to meet in the middle of the chamber.

“Come. Let’s adjourn to my private quarters.” Lunafreya’s words carried the steel Cereus House was famous for growing beneath the fragile bloom of its canon’s beauty. Ravus was having none of it.

“We will have this out _here_ and  _now,_ ” Ravus spat, not caring to wait a moment longer to say his piece.

When he saw his sister’s resigned shrug, the gesture carelessly elegant, it merely fanned the flames of his anger to burn more brightly.

“At least permit me to close the doors first.” Her voice was wryly sardonic, and Ravus did _not_ appreciate the tone she took with him, the head of their House. Nor the fact that she didn’t wait for his permission before moving around the salon and sealing off the doorways one by one.

“Now, brother,” Lunafreya spoke evenly, settling herself gracefully to perch on the edge of a sumptuous divan covered in twilight blue brocade. “What brings you to see me?”

“You know full well,” his voice was tight with emotion. “Bad enough you continue to live in this… _whorehouse_ , when having made your marque you could have long since come home. But to take on a patron. To take on _him_ as a patron! What were you thinking? Were you even thinking at all?” Rather than seat himself, Ravus paced around the chamber, far too upset to stay still. His voluminous gray coat swirled around his long legs dramatically, suiting his mood perfectly.

“Be careful, Ravus,” Lunafreya’s voice was frosty now, all polite pretense dropped away. “You tread on dangerous ground to question in which ways one dedicated to Naamah aught serve Her.”

Ravus sighed loudly, shaking his head in disappointment, tumbling the silver hair that reminded too many of their traitorous ancestor over his broad shoulders. “I never understood why you entered Her service. Nor why you continue to abide here. Come home, Lunafreya. Cease this—”

“No.” One word, implacable as the dawn. “Ravus, if your visit is just to harp again on your desire to see my break my vows, let us be done with it.” She rose, head held high with as much pride in her calling as he had in their birthright.

“Did you have to dally with _him_?” Ravus wouldn’t speak his name. Nor was it necessary for him to do so, for his sister to understand of whom he spoke.

Lunafreya leveled a steady look at her brother, and Ravus seethed when he saw the pity reflected in those indigo eyes.

His disgust with Noctis Lucis de la Courcel was borne of a deeply seated hatred spanning well over a decade. It had begun when, as mere lads, Ravus didn’t understand why Noctis would one day be king, just by the luck of his birth. Ravus was the better pupil, the better swordsman, the better courtier. Noctis was lazy, self-indulgent, and irreverent. Yet _he_ would be King, and Ravus a mere Duc.

As Ravus grew from a sullen boy into a calculating man, he realized there could be another path to power. While he preferred the company of women in his bed chamber, he certainly wasn’t averse to laying with a man if the motivation was right. Ravus had approached Noctis at the grand fête thrown for the Dauphin’s eighteenth birthday. He’d already seen the Courcel heir sharing his favors with abandon, drunk on more than just the freely flowing wine as the hours passed in a blur of celebratory revelry.

But while the Prince exchanged a perfunctory kiss of greeting with Ravus, he demurred when Ravus sought to take things further.

At the end of the day, Ravus was a D’Angeline. Noctis said no, and so he desisted in his attentions.

But, oh, how it had insulted him, watching the Prince that night, kissing and flirting with so many young noblewomen and men, only he himself excluded from the riotous orbit of pleasure and merry-making. Noctis had quickly garnered a reputation for sleeping his way through every house of the Night Court, nearly all those of the nobility, and many commoners and craft-persons also caught his eye.

But apparently Ravus wasn’t good enough to merit royal attention.

Still seeking to be the eventual power behind the throne, he fancied matching Lunafreya with the Dauphin, once his sister had made her marque and left behind what he viewed as a youthful folly. His sister had laughed when he told her his plan, professing she had no desire to give up her Service, or her Heliotrope lover.

It was all so _damnably_ infuriating. His last bastion of hope had been to perhaps gain the long unfilled appointment as an advisor to the Prince, but now that role was taken as well. And by a gods-forsaken _outlander_ , no less. As if it wasn’t infuriating enough watching the Duc de Trevalion parading his half-breed daughter around at the Royal Palace like she was a proper debutante. Were he in Clarus’s position he’d have kept her fostered in Alba with her savage mother’s kin, away from the prying eyes and wagging tongues of the Royal Court - her, and that misbegotten son of Trevalion, who profaned Naamah’s Service with his tainted blood.

Ravus realized he hadn’t heard a single word Lunafreya had said, so caught up in his internal miasma of hate had he been, and he sighed heavily. “I’m sorry, sister. Please say that again.”

Lunafreya’s eyes flashed with her own anger, now, not accustomed to being ignored. “I had said,  _dear_ brother, that I don’t know who is giving you your information - and if I find out which member of my house you’ve corrupted into your spy, I will drum them out into the street so quickly they won’t have time to regret their foolish choice - but in this, you are misinformed.”

“So you didn’t contract with the Prince?” Ravus’s timbre was simultaneously disbelieving and hopeful.

“Oh, I most certainly did,” Lunafreya averred. “Not that it is _any_ of your business.”

When his sister failed to elaborate, Ravus turned a piercing frown towards her that she met with a level, inscrutable gaze. They sat there, eyes locked in a silent contest of wills for several long moments until Ravus lowered his heterochromatic gaze first, ceding victory this time. Ravus wouldn’t interfere in the private affairs of Naamah’s Servant.

“Ravus, you _must_ cease this obsession with the Dauphin,” Lunafreya said, her voice ringing with sincerity. “Be content with what you have. You’re a Peer of the Realm, ruler of an ancient and storied house, wealthy beyond measure, and powerful in your own right. Be content, brother, and grateful.”

“I could be so much more.” He seethed. Logically, he knew her words were true, but Ravus was unable to be fulfilled with holding a duchy when he dreamed of ruling a kingdom.

“No, brother.” Lunafreya’s voice was filled with the boundless compassion trained into her for years. ‘All loveliness fades’, even that of childhood dreams. Her melodious timbre seemed to mock him with every serene syllable. “It will not be. Noctis will be king when Queen Aulea passes - Elua grant it not be for many years.” She sighed quietly. “Perhaps your energy would be better spent becoming an ally to the Prince, rather than working against him. You _could_ still rise to greatness, if not such lofty heights as you aspire.”

Ravus’s expression showed how ludicrous he found that asinine notion. “I will never work with that spoiled, lackadaisical fop we call Dauphin,” he said with such animosity wrapped around the royal title, he may as well have been cursing.

His thoughts whirred, still seeking an answer to the riddle of status and power he had created for himself. Noctis was beyond his grasp, Lunafreya wouldn’t try and court him, so…

Maybe the newly hired tutor? He was Caerdicci, yes, and Ravus knew well the backward notions held by that nation regarding same-sex congregation. However, if the man took an appointment in Terre d’Ange, rather than staying in his homeland, and agreed to work with a Prince whose appetites were so well-known, perhaps he was more… open minded.

It was something to consider, to be sure, though Ravus’s gut clenched at the notion of dallying with a foreigner, and one not even of noble blood.

Rising to his feet with a semblance of the decorum his entrance had lacked, he bowed to his sister. A genuinely happy smile lit up his sharp features when Lunafreya dipped into an answering curtsy. If there was one thing he couldn’t fault his sister, it was her pristine manners.

Ravus left Cereus House deep in thought. Climbing into his carriage, he spoke curtly to his driver to deliver the simple instruction to take him home.

How would he go about seducing the royal advisor?

Were there any events coming up at the Royal Palace that could facilitate a carefully planned chance encounter? A fête or a ball, perhaps? It was spring, there were certain to be plays or concerts or _something_ going on with regularity. He’d have to check with one of the Palace secretaries to see what was on the docket.

In the meantime, Ravus had an appointment with his library to brush up on his Caerdicci.

* * *

So much time had passed since the last time Gladiolus had been subjected to flagrant rudeness that, when a well-dressed merchant passed him by and spat at his feet, he stopped in the middle of the street and burst out laughing.

“ _Half-breed,”_ the merchant snarled, more incensed by Gladiolus’s reaction than by his appearance.

“What gave it away, Messire? The tattoos?” Gladiolus asked.  He knew he should leave well enough alone and continue heading towards his family’s townhouse, but he was in the mood to finish the fight that the man had started.  Prompto’s oft-used phrase drifted through his mind— _you’re the most un-Night-Courtly adept—_ which made Gladiolus’s smile even wider.

The merchant adjusted his feathered hat and stalked towards Gladiolus.

“The tattoos.  The stench.  The,” he waved a hand in a vague arc across Gladiolus’s body, “ _Hair_.”

“Naamah doesn’t appear to have any qualms about my heritage, so I fail to see why your opinion matters.  Unless, of course, you’re suggesting that you know better than Elua and his Companions,” Gladiolus said.  He let his smile fade and kept his features neutral.  He wanted to cross his arms, draw himself up to his full height, but he didn’t want to give off the impression that he was threatening the man.

The barb had the intended effect.  “You, a Servant of Naamah?”  Gladiolus could see the spittle flying from the man’s greasy lips.  “An abomination!”

Others had stopped in the street, watching from the fringes of Gladiolus’s vision, so he stepped closer to the man and lowered his voice before he spoke.

“I may be an abomination, Messire, but it doesn’t stop your countrymen from lining up outside my bedchamber to see what I have to offer,” Gladiolus said, a bland smile pasted on his face.

That seemed to do the trick.  The man’s face began to turn a truly astonishing shade of red, his cheeks puffed out and vein pulsing at his temple.  His lips worked open and closed like a fish out of water.  Gladiolus had to lean on his training to keep his insipid smile from turning into a delighted grin.  The merchant stood that way so long that Gladiolus wondered if he might be struck down from apoplexy where he stood.

Finally, he stormed away, boots pounding against the cobblestone of the streets as he sped away from Gladiolus.  The few bystanders trickled away as well, leaving when their entertainment vanished.  Gladiolus was certain they’d expected some barbarous display of outlander temper.

It thrilled him to subvert their expectations.  It always did.

When he was younger, it had been more difficult.  Gladiolus _did_ possess a temper, but it was no more volatile than that of any normal, full-blooded D’Angeline.  As soon as he’d shot up in his adolescence and begun to grow facial hair, his Cruithne heritage painted a target on his back.  Run-ins like the one with the merchant weren’t uncommon, and Gladiolus had not been as succinct in his handling of prior situations as he had been today.  

After the death of his mother, well…

He’d let his temper get the better of him once and once only.  No sooner than he’d gotten off the ship from Alba after his mother’s funerary rites, he heard a prissy D’Angeline voice call out.

“Why don’t you get back on that ship, _outlander?_ Nobody wants you here.”

Gladiolus whirled to face the speaker.  A flushed blonde in rumpled silk jutted his chin out in Gladiolus’s direction, challenge evident in his muddled gaze.  He was clearly drunk and Gladiolus should have been able to ignore him.  If Gladiolus’s _outlander_ mother hadn’t just died, if he’d been able to catch more than fitful snatches of sleep on the trip back to Terre d’Ange, if he wasn’t so _tired_ of the insufferable superiority of D’Angelines, events might have played out differently.

He didn’t even remember attacking the man, only his bloodied fists and the pulpy mess that was the lordling’s face after he was through.  The City Guard hauled him away for an uncomfortable overnight stay in prison.  It was only by virtue of his father’s intervention that he escaped with nothing more than a hefty fine and a stern reprimand.

Of course, one Clarus de Trevalion, Captain of the Palace Guard, did not appreciate the fact that he had to intervene at all.

Gladiolus wasn’t proud of what had happened, not precisely, but it had eventually put him on the path to serve Naamah.  And _that_ choice had been one of the best he’d made in his life.

Gladiolus sighed, his thoughts returning to the present.  The rest of his walk was uneventful.  The spring day was clear and beautiful, albeit windy, but Gladiolus appreciated the fresh air that wove between the City’s streets.

He must have whiled away more time in thought than he’d realized, as he soon found himself in front of the townhouse his father maintained in the City.  Though their House was noble, space in the City of Elua was limited, so the townhome was of a modest size.  Before Gladiolus could raise a hand to knock on the polished wood of the door, it flew open.

“Gladdy!” Iris called, jumping and throwing her arms around Gladiolus’s neck.  He grunted with the force of her hug but caught her easily, swinging her around in a lazy circle before setting her gently back to the ground.

“Iris,” Gladiolus said fondly, switching to speaking Cruithne and pressing a quick kiss to the top of her head. “You gonna let me in or what?”

“That depends on if you have a present for me,” Iris said, swaying from side to side.  Gladiolus laughed.

“I see how it is.  I’m only allowed if I come bearing gifts?  I’m hurt,” Gladiolus said, pressing a hand to his broad chest in mock offense.

“You know that’s not true, silly.  And it’s not my fault that you spoil me,” Iris replied with a sly grin.

“Now _that_ we agree upon,” Gladiolus said, making sure to keep the small package he brought with him hidden behind his back. “You’d better let me in before I make my way in.”

Iris giggled and stepped aside, waving Gladiolus inside with a dramatic flourish of her hand.  As soon as Gladiolus passed her to stand in the foyer of the house, he heard her give a delighted gasp.

“You did bring a gift!”

Gladiolus knew Iris would go for the package—this game was more or less a routine now whenever he came to visit—and so he held it high above his head, out of her reach.  For a young noblewoman, Iris possessed a surprising degree of athleticism, and Gladiolus had to extend his arm a bit higher to keep it from her grasp.

“How are your elocution lessons coming along?” Gladiolus asked.

Iris switched to D’Angeline.  “They’re coming along swimmingly, brother, even though I still don’t see the point in _how_ I speak if the words are correct.”  Gladiolus nodded his approval.  Her accent was nigh unnoticeable.

“Because,” Gladiolus replied, switching to D’Angeline and taking care to smooth out any traces of his own Cruithne accent, “My dear sister, you will find yourself in situations where the ability to sound like a D’Angeline in truth will come in handy.”

Iris blew out air between her lips, sounding for all the world like a snorting horse.  When she spoke, it was in Cruithne.  “ _Your_ D’Angeline is sloppy.  Most of the time,” she added.  

Gladiolus grinned.  “Only when it can afford to be.  Besides, my wild, _outlander_ D’Angeline is part of my carefully cultivated charm.”

Iris looked up at him expectantly, and Gladiolus laughed when he saw her raise a questioning eyebrow in a perfect copy of his own gesture.

“Fine, fine… let’s see,” Gladiolus said, searching mentally for a subject Iris’s tutors should have covered by this point. “What’s Sympronian’s third principle in his treatise _Et Politica de Ars_?”

“That if your only option is a direct attack, the battle is already lost,” Iris replied, sticking a tongue out at Gladiolus to end the statement.  “I don’t see why I need to study military strategy as a girl, anyway.  It’s not like I’ll ever be a soldier.”

Gladiolus gasped in horror, half of which was genuine. “Iris! I’m shocked! As Shemhazai said—”

“All knowledge is worth having,” Iris and Gladiolus said together, though Iris accompanied the maxim with a gargantuan roll of her eyes.

“Okay, last question.  Give me your favourite, _accurate_ quote from a D’Angeline poet and the prize is yours,” Gladiolus said, studying Iris.

“The bee is in the lavender, the honey’s in the comb, but here a rain falls never-ending, and I am far from home,” Iris recited.

“ _The Exile’s Lament_ , good choice,” Gladiolus murmured.  He handed over the slim, wrapped package to Iris whose eyes began to twinkle with glee.  “A prize well earned.”

Iris’s nimble fingers tore into the package.  Her joyful exclamation was well worth the ducats he’d spent when she saw its contents.  Fine silk ribbons, seven in total, one for each colour of the rainbow and impeccably dyed.

“Oh, they’re wonderful,” Iris breathed.

“I noticed that you taken up the habit of wearing ribbons around your neck in place of jewelry, so I thought these would make a good addition to your collection,” Gladiolus explained.

“Thank you so much, Gladdy,” Iris said, leaping at Gladiolus to wrap him in another hug.  He laughed, ruffling her hair.

“Anything for you,” Gladiolus replied.  When Iris released him from her grasp, he caught her eye. “Is Father here yet?”

“Yup!  He’s here and in the dining room.  Jared put out some luncheon for us, so if you’re hungry, you’re in luck,” Iris said, taking Gladiolus by the hand and tugging him towards said dining room.  His stomach chose that moment to growl, prompting a giggle from Iris.

“You know me, could always eat.”

When the pair rounded the corner and entered the dining room, their father rose from his chair and met Gladiolus halfway.

“Gladiolus,” Clarus said, fond and warm.

“Father,” Gladiolus replied, embracing the smaller—but not weaker—man.

“It’s so nice that the three of us could be together, and on such a lovely day,” Iris commented, skipping to her seat.  The ribbons trailed from her hand before she shoved them in one the pockets in her skirt.

“Indeed,” Clarus agreed, going back to his seat.  Gladiolus took his traditional seat beside Iris, the three of them forming a triangle around the small circular table.  Gladiolus eyed the spread of cured meats in front of them on the table, mouth watering, before his father spoke.  “Please, go ahead and eat.”

Neither he nor Iris needed further encouragement, their fingers descending on the food and plucking the choicest bits for consumption.  Gladiolus was always grateful for the variety of the food at home; while the kitchens at Balm House were worthy of nobility due to their clientele, it could get stale eating the same meals over and over again.

Clarus gave a quiet chuckle.  “Between the two of you, you’d think you’d never had a solid meal in your entire lives.”

Iris echoed their father’s laugh. “I might have skipped breakfast this morning.  I was too excited for Gladdy’s visit!”

“It’s not wise to skip breakfast, Iris,” Clarus said sternly.  Iris made a half-hearted attempt at looking contrite before stuffing another giant piece of cheese in her mouth.

“So,” Gladiolus started once he’d finished chewing, “They let you out of the Palace for the day, huh?”

“They did,” Clarus said, running a hand over his bald head, “And a good thing, too.  I needed the break.”

“No more ‘sibling rivalry where each triplet is trained in combat’ drama again, I hope?” Gladiolus asked, smirking.  

Clarus gave a smile that, if Gladiolus squinted, might be a grimace.

“Praise Elua and all of his Companions, no.  That was a right headache to sort out.  Almost every shift in the Guard had to be rotated to keep them apart,” Clarus said.

“What about the Dauphin? He gotten any better at, you know, letting the people who are willing to give their life for him the chance to do so?” Gladiolus asked.

“Unfortunately, no.  Another headache which I _haven’t_ sorted yet.  Brother Cor’s the only one who can keep up with him, and he’s busy guarding Her Majesty more often than not.  Although, who knows.  Perhaps his new advisor will take up the role of bodyguard as well.”

Gladiolus’ brow crinkled in a frown.  “You know I have as much respect for academia as the next person, but I don’t think books make for great weapons.”

Clarus took a drink out of a goblet in front of him before speaking again.  “Messire Scientia requested use of the training yard.  It seems he’s quite capable of holding his own.  He nearly laid poor Libertus out, _and_ we had to replace a training dummy after one of his private practices.”

Gladiolus whistled. “I bet the Queen and Prince-Consort didn’t know that when they hired him.  Seems like a bad mix to give him a tutor that has the ability to murder him along with the desire.”

Iris laughed at that, her cheeks bulging with what looked to be fresh bread.  Gladiolus shot her a pointed look.

“You’d better be the very model of excellent behavior with your tutors, Iris,” Gladiolus said firmly.

“Don’t worry, I haven’t run any of them off yet like the Prince, although sometimes I’ve wanted to…”

" _Iris._ ” Gladiolus emphasized her name with a raised eyebrow.

“If he’s like the others,” Clarus interjected, “He’ll be gone before long.  The guards we have posted around the Dauphin’s chambers and on Messire Scientia’s study have reported some… tension,” he finished, eyeing Iris meaningfully.

_Oh_.  Bad enough that he didn’t want to bring it up in front of Iris?  Interesting.  And, Gladiolus thought, not the least bit surprising.

“Well, at least it ain’t your problem today,” Gladiolus said casually, waving his sausage-topped fork through the air.

“What about you, Gladiolus?” Clarus asked, folding his hands on the table in front of him. “How have you been?”

“You know he always says the same thing, Father,” Iris said with a wistful sigh, batting her eyelashes in Gladiolus’s direction.  “Gladiolus’s life as a Servant of Naamah will forever be a mystery to us.  We never get any juicy gossip or thrilling tales.”

Gladiolus levelled a flat stare at Iris.

“For you, sister, my Service will _always_ be a mystery.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! We continue to appreciate your comments, kudos, and general love. <3
> 
> Next week: Noctis and Prompto meet again...


	5. A Clearer Picture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noctis gets a portrait from Prompto and the promise of something more.

When Prompto stepped into the Dowayne’s study, his body language blatantly telegraphed his discomfort. The servant who delivered the summons hadn’t given a reason, not that Prompto had expected them to. But the lack of knowing made Prompto’s mind spin in a vicious cycle of anxious thought. He hadn’t done anything wrong, had he? No. Not unless one counted kissing the Dauphin in Elua’s Square as ‘wrong’.

“Please, sit,” the Dowayne’s voice was a rich, resonant tenor, the timbre that of a trained performer. In short, just as one would expect of the Head of Eglantine House.

Prompto lowered himself into one of the chairs as gracefully as he could manage despite his nerves, folding his hands to still his fidgeting fingers. He looked at the Dowayne silently, awaiting his words.

Eyes of pale amethyst spoke more eloquently than any speech Prompto could have come up with, though. The Dowayne took heed, and smiled in reassurance. “Prompto, I received an urgent missive from the Royal Palace this morning. It seems our lord Dauphin wishes to contract your services for a likeness to hang in the Hall of Portraits.”

The young adept felt his jaw drop in what was likely a most unbecoming manner, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. “The Dauphin wants _me_ to paint his portrait? _Me_?”

The Dowayne’s eyes were rueful as he nodded. “While I’d prefer to send a more experienced artist, it simply wouldn’t do to go against His Highness’s wishes.” Leaning forward, he folded his hands on his desk. “Do well with this, Prompto.” The words were simultaneously encouraging and demanding.

Prompto swallowed audibly. “Yes, my lord Dowayne. I won’t let you down.”

Waving a hand in dismissal, the Dowayne turned back to his paperwork, and Prompto excused himself from the stuffy chamber with alacrity.

He was still processing the fact that not only had the Prince not been offended by his temerity in the Square, he had actually _responded_ to Prompto’s letter and formally scheduled an assignation. Prompto couldn’t wait to tell Gladiolus about his good fortune the next time they met up at the Nightingale.

He’d have to keep a wary eye out the next couple days until the assignation came to pass. Prompto had heard the story of the famous Favrielle nó Eglantine his very first day as a new initiate of the House, learned how her fellow adepts’ jealousy had been her undoing on the very eve of her debut, until she secured a wealthy patroness who elevated her to freedom. None of Prompto’s brethren could argue that he had more than his fair share of assignations - truth be told, he was probably the least often booked - but to land a rendezvous with the Dauphin himself could easily incite the envy of his peers.

Well, he wasn’t going to worry about it too much. From what Prompto could see out the windows as he moved down the corridor, the sun was shining and it was a beautiful spring day. He’d swing by his room, gather paper and charcoal, and go enjoy it the best way he knew how: by making art.

* * *

The day of the assignation had finally arrived, and Prompto was relieved he’d managed a decent night’s sleep despite the tumultuous mixture of excitement and nerves roiling through him. He sent to the kitchens for a light breakfast, knowing he needed to eat something, but not wishing for anything heavy. More importantly, he requested a bath be drawn in his quarters.  
Such an important appointment required proper preparation.

While the bath was being drawn, Prompto sought out the altar to Naamah, kneeling _abeyante_ before the finely crafted statue and bowing his head in prayer. He silently beseeched the Goddess in whose service he was sworn, asking for guidance, for inspiration, yearning for something he wasn’t able to quantify.

Then he went outdoors to the courtyard, wanting to spend time with Elua.

He sat cross-legged on the grass next to the marble bust. Prompto reckoned that Elua didn’t stand on ceremony, and would be okay with a more casual posture. Belatedly, he wished he’d brought an offering, but Prompto thought that he himself, his art, his craft, was an acceptable substitute for the more traditional incense or anemones.

Prompto didn’t tarry overlong, not wishing his bath to grow cold, but he rested on the lush lawn until he felt a sense of serenity enshroud him like a warm blanket. It would go well. He was Elua’s child and Naamah’s Servant, and he was ready.

Rising and walking back into the house with a focused mind, Prompto didn’t even notice the startled way adepts and servants stepped from his path, as if they saw something on Prompto’s face that invited no interruption. And truly, a divine grace had fallen over him, one that made seasoned adepts nods knowingly and humble initiates gape in awe.

Upon reaching his chambers, Prompto stripped down quickly, tossing his nightclothes to the side and sinking into the tub with a languorous sigh. His thoughts were turned too far inward to name the scents wafting over him from the bathwater, all he knew was it smelled _right_.

Prompto soaked in the tub for nearly an hour, meditating on what it was to serve Naamah, seeking out the divine peace of Elua. He mulled over the credo of his house, ‘to create is to live’, and Gladiolus’s words from their last visit came to mind.

This royal commission could make his marque. Change his life.

He could be free, completely free, to live and love as he chose, under nobody’s jurisdiction but Blessed Elua’s.

It was an almost overwhelmingly giddy realization, and Prompto was glad that he was sitting down.

When at last he rose from the bath, a beatific smile wreathed his delicate features, freckles highlighted charmingly by a light blush. Prompto dressed himself simply in a tunic slashed with Eglantine’s green and gold over plain dun colored hosen, and made sure he packed his painting apron along with his paints, brushes, pigments, and other supplies.

He’d premixed the colors he thought he’d find most needful - Courcel blue and silver, of course, but also the startlingly brilliant azure of the Dauphin’s eyes, the midnight perfection of his hair. It was always best to be prepared for the unexpected, so Prompto packed perhaps more than he’d truly need, not wishing to overlook anything that could help make this assignation a success.

As ready as he’d ever be, Prompto pulled on his shoes and walked out to where the Eglantine House carriage awaited him.

* * *

The Dauphin had risen early, even by the standards set by his exacting tutor. Noctis delighted in the shocked look on Ignis’s face when he sauntered into the dining room and joined those members of the household who were breaking their fast as the sun began to rise over the city’s shining white walls.

“Good morning, Scientia,” he chirped in the stuffy Caerdicci’s general direction. His good mood was further buoyed by the delightfully confused expression on his advisor’s handsome face.

“Highness.” Apparently, Ignis was a man of few words this early in the morning. That suited Noctis just fine. He tucked into his breakfast with a will, managing some semblance of the table manners suiting his station, though in his impatience he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“You’re up unusually early,” his instructor’s voice was cautious.

Ah, _Elua_ , Ignis made it so easy to discomfit him that Noctis wanted to find more inventive ways to do so on a daily basis. This time, however, the variance from his typical routine had nothing to do with unnerving Scientia, and everything to do with a lovely Eglantine adept whose eyes were the perfect shade of lilacs blossoming on the stem.

“I have an important appointment today. You have the day off,” Noctis said around mouthfuls of fruit, relishing the roll of jade eyes his poor manners earned him.

“Very well,” Ignis said, turning back to his breakfast.

Pity that he didn’t ask Noctis for details. The Dauphin would have taken great pains to downplay the artistic nature of the assignation and highlight the Servant of Naamah with him for _hours_. He would’ve even slipped in the fact that he contracted a male adept, if only to see which facial expression would form on those chiseled, foreign features - the disgust of a properly prudish Caerdicci man, or the envy Noctis suspected Scientia would truly feel?

Oh, well. He’d have time to toy with Ignis so many other days. Today was special, and Noctis wouldn’t be diverted from his focus.

Prompto nó Eglantine.

Prompto. He liked that name. It was unusual, just like the adept who bore it.

Noctis knew the Night Court prided itself on holding to exacting, specific canons of beauty, and the delightfully cheery freckles peppering Prompto’s face - his whole body, perhaps? Noctis _needed_ to find out - would typically preclude him from attaining adepthood. A foolishly limiting vision, Noctis thought, not finding freckles a blemish, but rather an embellishment to flawless creamy skin.

He would count them, one by one, kissing each and every spot, until Prompto believed himself as beautiful as Noctis knew him to be.

Perhaps he was getting ahead of himself, but Noctis couldn’t help it. He’d found his thoughts flitting back to the sunny blonde frequently since their chance meeting in the Square, and he’d scarcely been able to think of much else since scheduling their assignation. While their contract today was strictly artistic in nature, he was determined that sometime in the future, he’d arrange time with the Eglantine Adept for more physical pursuits. Today would give him a good opportunity to gauge the other man’s interest and lay the groundwork for future interactions.

After finishing his breakfast, Noctis took a thorough bath, and combed his hair until it shone in the sunlight filtering through the curtains. He opted to honor his parents wishes in this venture and left his hair down to tease at the slopes of his shoulders, dressing himself in trousers of Courcel blue and a fine doublet a shade lighter, embroidered with the silver swan of his house. Once he’d tugged on his boots, he was ready.

Oh, Elua’s balls, there were still _hours_ until the appointed time.

Noctis shrugged and crossed from his bedchamber into his personal study. His mother had been pressing him to get more involved with the day to day minutiae involved in governing Terre d’Ange; perhaps he should read some of those petitions she’d parceled off for his review.

* * *

Prompto had seen the Royal Palace before. He’d even managed to tour the very Hall of Portraits where his commission was destined to be hung. But he’d never imagined he’d be invited to go beyond the public receiving rooms and galleries into the inner sanctum of House Courcel. As he followed the servant deeper, he felt smaller and smaller, dwarfed and insignificant amidst all this splendor.

Eventually, he was led into a small study, furnished more simply than he’d expected. It housed a desk, several chairs, a couch and a table. The desk held the look of not being used terribly often - it wasn’t cluttered at all, and Prompto knew that the Dowayne’s desk was always piled with paperwork in neat stacks. Not really knowing what to do with himself, Prompto set down his bag on one of the chairs, seating himself in the other and waiting.

He didn’t have to wait long. Prompto whirled around towards the sound of an opening door, forcing himself to smile calmly, willing the cadence of his heart to slow, the fluttering in his gut to ease.

The Dauphin of Terre d’Ange was just as stunning as Prompto had remembered. He was garbed immaculately in the colors of his house, that blue-black hair a dark waterfall around the alabaster perfection of his face, brilliant sapphire eyes glittering at him expectantly.

Prompto rushed to his feet, bowing. “Highness! Hello! Thank you so much for taking me up on my offer!”

He saw Noctis’s rosebud lips quirk in a smile. “Thanks for offering.” He walked further into the room, shutting the door behind him. “Mother has been after me for months to get this taken care of. Perhaps it was more than chance that led you to be in my path in the Square.” His voice was teasing, his tone light.

“The Gods work in mysterious ways.” Prompto affected the unctuous tone of an elderly priest, and was rewarded by Noctis’s laughter.

“So, what did you have in mind for the portrait?” Prompto asked.

Noctis’s slim shoulders rose and fell in an indolent shrug. “Father suggested you capture the image of me sitting at my desk. The Dauphin hard at work,” he grimaced a moment, before that sly light shone in his eyes once more “If it were up to me, the setting would be my bed, and we’d both be wearing far less clothing.”

Prompto felt a thrill shiver up his spine at the bold flirtation. “Perhaps an assignation for another day, Your Highness.”

“Count on it.”

How could three little words make Prompto’s breath catch in his throat? He coughed lightly, trying to bring himself back into the moment and away from images of himself wrapped around the Prince.

“Well, whenever you’re ready, Highness, go ahead and seat yourself. I’ll just get my paints ready.”

Prompto was mildly discomfited to realize Noctis was a mere step behind him, watching him ready his supplies, electing not to seat himself until Prompto had completely unpacked his accoutrements. The young adept settled his smock over his clothes, and gasped when slim fingers brushed against his when he reached behind his back to tie it in place.

“Allow me.” Soft lips brushed the delicate shell of Prompto’s ear, and he shuddered.

Those clever fingers had his smock secured all too quickly, and Prompto felt Noctis move away from him.

Turning, Prompto saw Noctis was seated at his desk wearing an innocent smile, the effect of which was totally wrecked by the mischievous light glinting in those liquid cerulean eyes. Noctis had naturally adopted a regal pose, hands folded on his desk, carriage upright, but the angle was just a bit off.

“May I touch you, Highness?” Prompto blushed becomingly. “To get the best effect of the lighting.”

“Please.” A velvety purr and another quirk of pink lips framed by milk-white skin had Prompto’s pulse racing.

He tried to only touch the Dauphin as much as strictly necessary, tilting his chin and angling his shoulders, but he couldn’t resist brushing one hand over the satin fall of his unbound hair before stepping away.

“Okay! That’s perfect. Hold that pose, please!”

Prompto quickly set up easel and canvas, and studied the Prince. In truth, he didn’t need to - he hadn’t been able to get that handsome face out of his thoughts since that day in the Square - but Elua, he’d take every chance to drink in that sight.

He was D’Angeline, and the Dauphin was beautiful. He wasn’t ashamed to enjoy it.

His brushes began to move over the blank canvas almost of their own volition as Prompto felt a trancelike state fall over him. At times like this, it was as if the art created itself, it was a breathtakingly joyous ritual in and of itself, and something Prompto relished.

A small part of him detached from the process noticed how Noctis was staring. Usually by now, his subjects would start to look bored, their eyes unfocused and glazing over with daydreams and idle thoughts. But the Prince had yet to take his eyes off Prompto, and it was such an intense gaze that Prompto could practically feel it caressing his skin. It was with supreme force of will that he tore his violet eyes from the Dauphin’s, looking to the lines emerging on the canvas.

All right. The foundation was laid. It was time to get serious. Prompto’s full attention was subsumed by his work for several hours, save for brief flicks of his eyes towards the sitting Prince, that in truth were more to remind himself that this was really happening than for any true need of reminder of the image he was creating.

As the sun began to sink, Prompto nodded, satisfied. This was perhaps his best work, he thought, eyeing the painting critically. He’d managed to capture the regal pose, the strong Courcel eyebrows, the glittering Shahrizai eyes. But he also showed the Prince’s joy, his humanity - a slight quirk to those sensual lips, a playfulness in the slight cant of his head.

He was the Dauphin. But he was still a man with feelings and hopes and dreams, and Prompto prayed to Elua and every one of His Companions that he had balanced the two halves of the whole adequately.

Looking up, ready to show his patron the finished work, he blinked in surprise to find Noctis had fallen asleep at some point, head pillowed on arms folded upon that empty desktop.

Momentarily thrown off, Prompto wondered what the appropriate course of action was. Should he let the Dauphin sleep, and just wait? From the angle of the sun, he needed to be back to Eglantine House before much longer, but surely the Dowayne wouldn’t begrudge extra hours in the service of the crown.

Noctis looked so peaceful like that, Prompto couldn’t resist. He took out paper and charcoal and drew a quick sketch, folding it into his bag and resolving to finish it later, on his own time.

He packed up most of his belongings, moving as quietly as possible so as not to disturb the Dauphin, but it didn’t take him terribly long and he was again faced with the quandary.

Prompto decided he’d wake the Prince, when he realized that sleeping in that position couldn’t be terribly comfortable, and would likely leave Noctis with a stiff neck.

Satisfied that he wasn’t acting out of desire for validation of his hard work, Prompto walked around the desk and laid a gentle hand on Noctis’s shoulder. “Highness…?”

Noctis’s response was to grab on to his hand and tug him closer, until Prompto’s chest was pressed against the Dauphin’s side, their cheeks touching. Strands of ebony mingled with those of burnished gold.

Prompto couldn’t help it. He laughed, the sound soft and happy.

Oh, what a delight this assignation was turning out to be.

The Prince stirred against him, and Prompto tried to draw back to a more appropriate distance, but felt himself held in place with unexpected strength. When those luminous eyes opened to lazily regard him, Prompto swore he felt something shift and click into place, a part of him he wasn’t aware was incomplete was completed, and he was utterly lost in that azure gaze.

When Noctis turned his face to regard him more fully, Prompto met his look squarely, no longer trying to draw back. He could feel the blush spreading over his cheeks and down his neck, and didn’t care. He knew his breath was coming nearly as quickly as his racing heartbeat, and wasn’t ashamed.

He was young, D’Angeline, and completely enamored by the beautiful man sitting a scant distance away from him.

Prompto watched Noctis bite his lip, and when he spoke his voice was hesitant. His lips whispered against Prompto’s delicately with each word, the two young men hovering a breath away from the kiss they both craved. “I know this isn’t in our contract.”

Prompto inhaled deeply, those amethyst eyes fluttering shut a moment. _Naamah, Elua, give me strength._

The Eglantine Adept wanted nothing more than to sink into that kiss, lose himself in the Dauphin’s embrace, give homage to Naamah until he couldn’t form coherent thought, contracts be damned.

Something in him gave pause. Prompto wanted Noctis. Surely that was etched in every line of his face, every facet of his amethyst eyes, sang out by every shuddering breath.

But he didn’t want to be paid to love the Prince.

He wanted to be Prompto, the man - not Prompto, the adept. He wanted to really know Noctis, not discover his body under guise of a business transaction.

Prompto took both of Noctis’s hands in his and squeezed, offering the Dauphin a genuinely warm smile. When he spoke, his words were heartfelt and true. “I don’t want _this_ to be in a contract.”

* * *

Noctis’s heart leapt at those heartfelt words, and the last vestiges of sleep fell away from his consciousness.

Prompto wanted _him_. Not the Dauphin. Not his ducats. _Him_ , Noctis.

It was a heady rush, and terrifying all at once.

Prompto’s eyes were wide and luminous as they stared into his. With his beautiful face framed by the golden tumble of his hair, it reminded Noctis of nothing so much as a field of lavender basking in the sunshine.

Prompto was the light he’d been reaching for, a stunted blossom struggling to flourish in the darkness.

Noctis knew that his life would never be the same, and he sent blessings to Elua and all His Companions for making it so.

He was determined not to fuck this up, as he’d done to so many things in his life.

Noctis wasn’t stupid, as much as his Caerdicci tutor might believe at this point. He knew he was doing a piss-poor job at becoming the future ruler Terre d’Ange needed him to be. Noctis was also smart enough to know that at least in part, this was due to the indulgence of his parents. But, Noctis was twenty years of age, and couldn’t blame his parents for his shortcomings any longer. He needed to start acting his age, his role, growing into the type of man that could lead a nation justly.

“I’d like that,” he replied simply, reaching to cup one of those freckled cheeks in his palm with aching gentleness. “When can I see you again?”

“I’m… not sure.” Prompto admitted. “Soon?”

Noctis laughed. “Not soon enough.” He combed careful fingers through that golden cascade, savoring the softness against his skin.

“In a few days.” Prompto’s voice was resolved. “I’ll send you word. If that suits you, Your Highness.”

Noctis knew it would be too much too soon, but Elua, how he longed to hear Prompto’s rich voice shape the sound of his name.

“You send for me, and I’ll be there,” he vowed.

It was with great reluctance that Noctis unwound himself from the lovely adept, standing and untying a small pouch from his belt. When he handed it to Prompto, if their fingers lingered in the passing, well, who could blame them?

“This is for Naamah’s honor,” Noctis said seriously. “The assignation-fee is already safely in the Dowayne’s hands.”

“Thank you, Highness!” Prompto beamed at him, cheery sunshine breaking through the dusk of their impending farewell.

Noctis realized he was kissing Prompto deeply, his body having moved before he gave it the conscious direction to do so. His hands were coiled tenderly in that golden hair, and he thrilled at the way the adept’s body trembled against his - not in fear, not with nerves, but with a desire as raw as Noctis’s own. Their lips moved against each other so sweetly it made tears burn behind his eyelids, and when he opened his eyes after the kiss ended, he saw a similar wetness mirrored in those lavender depths.

“I’ll walk you out,” Noctis offered.

“Oh, really, that’s not necessary, I’m sure you’re busy, and—”

“I’ll walk you out.” The Dauphin spoke firmly, and offered Prompto one arm, while hefting his bag with the other.

As they walked through the palace halls, Noctis paid absolutely no attention to the servants and nobles moving in their wake. He had more important matters to consider, such as counting the freckles on Prompto’s face, admiring the way his hair curled around his slim shoulders, drinking in the vivacious light beaming from his every smile.

All too soon, they came the door, and Noctis was pleased to see the carriage stamped with Eglantine’s sigil awaited the adept. He handed Prompto his bag, and brushed one last kiss against the curve of his cheek. “Soon.”

“Soon.” Giving a sunny grin, Prompto waved cheekily as he bounded down the stairs towards the carriage.

It wasn’t until Noctis returned to his study that he realized he’d been so caught up in the unexpectedly intense moment with Prompto, he hadn’t even looked at the finished product. He looked now, and was amazed. Prompto was clearly an artistic genius. How he hadn’t yet made his marque baffled Noctis - even he could see the brilliance in each brush stroke, could tell the level of mastery needed to create a portrait such as this.

Mother and Father would certainly be pleased with this likeness.

And, perhaps, with another item checked off the list of things Noctis had been procrastinating on, they wouldn’t object too strongly when he started spending time with the beautiful artist who created it.

Prompto’s letter couldn’t come soon enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading if you made it to the end! We love and appreciate every comment and kudos on this project of passion. <3
> 
> Next week: The tension between Noctis and Ignis comes to a head...


	6. (Un)willing to Learn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tension between the Dauphin and his Advisor finally comes to a head.

Ignis’s eyes served as the current day’s subject of study.

Actually, it was Caerdicci—again—but Noctis found his tutor’s eyes a much more compelling item to focus on.

The most perplexing part of them was their colour.  Noctis had spent at least three hours trying to decide on the exact shade of green.  When they were behind the slim lenses of his spectacles, they reminded him of a fresh sprig of mint most.  The green wasn’t quite deep enough to be Eglantine green, or the rich green of oak leaves on a midsummer day.  They also weren’t light enough to be the green of a tart apple or juicy pear.  Therefore, Noctis decided on mint.

Or so he thought.

Then Ignis had removed his spectacles to level a truly  _thrilling_ look of displeasure in Noctis’s direction and forced him to reconsider.  Without the glass to distort the incoming sunlight, the light altered the green in the most pleasing way.  A hint of blue crept into the mint, as subtle and enticing as a lover’s breath against the shell of an ear.  Noctis had heard tell of rivers and oceans that were murky teal as opposed to crystalline blue, and though he’d never seen them for himself, he imagined Ignis’s eyes to be representative of their colour.

Perhaps he’d ask the Royal Poet for their opinion, and then commission a piece in honor of his dear Advisor, and _then_ have it read aloud at the next Palace fête.

Ignis’s eyes were also framed by a pair of perfect eyebrows.  Noctis wondered if they were naturally shaped into such neat, elegant lines or if Ignis maintained them himself.  He couldn’t imagine Ignis taking the time to shape them, but then again, he couldn’t imagine Ignis shaving either when he clearly did.  Noctis hadn’t seen so much as a hint of stubble on the man’s face since he’d arrived.

Noctis found himself wanting to watch Ignis shave.  He imagined his advisor, fresh out of the bath and wearing nothing but a dressing robe—or better still, nothing at all—with the sharp edge of a razor pressed to his neck. He’d pause to brush his damp, ash blonde hair out of his eyes before dragging the blade in a slow, precise motion across his skin…

No, best not to continue down that line of thinking, or he’d have to take a break already and risk Ignis’s ire.

Noctis’s thoughts swept back to the matter at hand.  If Noctis had to list any flaw in Ignis’s eyes, it would be that they were perhaps a touch wide set, especially compared to the impeccable proportions of D’Angelines. Somehow, though, it enhanced their appeal rather than detracting from it.  Perhaps it was Ignis’s Caerdicci features that made his eyes more stunning, complimenting the brash lines of his jaw and nose.  A nose which, Noctis noted, had the most infuriatingly charming bump in it.  Ignis made an imperfection that might be enough to preclude Service to Naamah in Terre d’Ange seem downright enviable.

He wondered if his parents had planned this.  Had they known they were hiring the one calamitously handsome scholar in all of Caerdicca Unitas?  More importantly, had they known that Ignis would be completely, utterly, and wholly immune to Noctis’s entire arsenal of charms?  Perhaps it had been a gamble given the way the Caerdicci regarded romantic and sexual relationships between two men.  Noctis hadn’t come right out and ask Ignis about his preferences, but maybe he should, and soon.

But then again, the knowledge that Ignis didn’t want him, the fact that Noctis might not be able to have him… that made it all the more tantalizing.  Noctis would never press harder than he already was—Elua knew he, like every other D’Angeline, found the idea of relations with an unwilling partner to be morally and spiritually reprehensible—but he could still have his fun.

Noctis was about to begin contemplating Ignis’s lips when his reverie was interrupted.

“Your Highness.  _Your Highness_!”

Noctis blinked once, slow and indolent, before looking up at Ignis.  His tutor sat on the other side of the desk from Noctis; their lesson today took place in Noctis’s quarters since he’d refused to go to Ignis’s study.  Ignis’s frustration was evidenced by the sharp glint in those magnificent eyes.

“Yes?” Noctis asked.

“I posed a question to you,” Ignis said, and Noctis was pleased to hear the controlled breaths his tutor was taking.

“Sorry, I must have missed it.  Could you repeat the question?”

“Will you even have an answer if I bother to repeat the question?” Ignis asked flatly.

“Oh, are we doing that philosophical practice you mentioned of answering questions with questions?  In that case, how would I know if I knew the answer if I don’t hear the question first?” Noctis replied.

Ignis let out an impressive string of curses in his native tongue.  Noctis gave a cat-like grin and picked up his goblet of watered-down wine, running one of his fingers across the rim.

“Insulting my parentage is one thing, but I think you forget that my mother also happens to be Queen,” Noctis said.

“You understood part of that, then,” Ignis said, folding his arms across his chest.  He didn’t even have the grace to look embarrassed.

“You’ve used that particular phrase enough that I’d be an idiot not to grasp its meaning by now,” Noctis said.

Ignis had the uncomfortable mein of someone with a retort on the tip of their tongue that they knew they shouldn’t say.  After a few moments, he spoke.  

“Imagine my complete lack of surprise that the first organic demonstration of your grasp on Caerdicci is related to offensive language,” Ignis said, removing his spectacles and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I’m pleased that I meet your expectations, Scientia,” Noctis said, smiling over the rim of his goblet.  He pulled a face when he found the wine had gone tepid.  “Ugh, too warm.”  

Noctis focused for a moment on that reserve of _other_ within himself, the feeling he associated with his magic, and felt an icy chill permeate his goblet.  When frost decorated the rim of the cup and lazy curls of vapor rose from the metal, Noctis stopped and took another sip.  He gave a happy sigh and leaned back in his chair.  Once settled, he looked to Ignis to gauge his reaction and found Ignis wearing an expression of alert interest.

Ignis thrust his own goblet in Noctis’s direction.

“Would you demonstrate that again, Your Highness?”

Noctis laughed.  “Finally giving into a little pleasure in your life, Scientia?”

Ignis’s look was scathing enough to wither plants, but Noctis found certain parts of him thriving under that gaze.

“No, I was labouring under the impression that the only magical ability you D’Angelines possessed was the ability to climax countless times in a row.  I stand corrected,” Ignis said.

Noctis spat out the wine he’d just taken into his mouth and barked out a shocked laugh.

“So you have a sense of humor after all,” Noctis said, dabbing at his mouth with his sleeve before setting his own goblet down and taking Ignis’s. His smile sharpened a degree as he purred, “And you might not be wrong about your impression, either.  I’m sure a firsthand demonstration could be arranged.”

Ignis pressed onward, ignoring Noctis’s gibe.  “It’s not every day one has the chance to see magic performed, even if it is for a trivial task such as chilling a drink.  I wasn’t aware that you had studied at the Academy of Occult Philosophy,” Ignis said.

“I didn’t,” Noctis said. He finally repeated the action on Ignis’s goblet as requested, directing a thin flow of ice magic in and around the cup until its appearance was similar to his own.  “Crowe did, though, and she’s the one who taught me.  She’s a Lieutenant in the Palace Guard.”

“It gives me hope to know that there’s even a single individual in the nation of Terre d’Ange capable of teaching you,” Ignis remarked, one corner of his lips twitching upwards before being suppressed again.  “Why did you not mention your proclivity for the arcane arts prior to now?”

Noctis shifted in his chair, the conversation going down a path he didn’t like.  “Magic is… frowned upon here.  I’ve always had a natural talent for it though.”

“In what other ways are you able to utilize your magical ability?” Ignis asked.  Noctis gave another silky grin which Ignis, for a change, appeared to notice before Noctis could reply.  “If anything other than an actual description of your literal magical abilities comes out of your mouth, this conversation is over.”

Tempting, Noctis thought, but now that they were no longer studying he was enjoying himself.  Mostly.

“I can evoke natural elements.  Fire, ice, and lightning, to be specific.  I can also heal injuries and illness to a degree.  How much I can do depends on… well, it’s difficult to put into words,” Noctis said, waving a hand through the air as he searched for the words, “It’s like physical stamina but separate.  If I try to do too much, it’s… like an illness that comes over me.  Sometimes it lasts for hours, sometimes days if I push too hard.”

“Fascinating,” Ignis said.  Noctis found himself wishing Ignis would look at him with half as much interest as he was looking at his chilled goblet, speak to him with a fraction of the wonder which he packed into that single word.

“I guess.  Anyway, I don’t talk about it or do it much because, like I said, it’s not exactly ‘Heir Apparent to Terre d’Ange’ material.  It’s regarded with a lot of superstition and I don’t need to give people more ammunition.”

Noctis watched as Ignis’s brows drew together in a curious frown.  “But surely you use it when circumstances call for it?  With the size and nature of the Palace Guard, I imagine there are many opportunities for the healing component in particular.”

Noctis was already annoyed, and Ignis’s question stoked the embers of that annoyance into a flame of anger.  “Of course I do, Scientia.  Whatever else you think of me, I’m not going to watch a member of the guard bleed out because I don’t want people to talk behind my back.  Or force a servant to come light my fire in the winter when I can do it with a mere thought.  Elua’s balls!”

“My apologies, Your Highness,” Ignis said, normally full lips pressed together in a thin line. “The question was not an accusation against your character.”

Noctis tossed his hair over one shoulder and fixed his gaze on the window, pointedly not looking at Ignis.  “It certainly sounded like one.”  Noctis heard Ignis’s clothing rustle as he shifted in his chair.  His tutor gave a pointed sigh when Noctis refused to budge.

“Would you like to continue with the day’s lesson, Your Highness? Perhaps move on to the assigned readings.”

Despite the lack of apology, Noctis got a fantastic idea, and his anger faded to a more manageable level of irritation.  He turned to face Ignis once more.

“I didn’t read them,” Noctis said.  He stared Ignis down, watching his body stiffen in his chair.

“I feel this question to be pertinent to the topic at hand: are you literate? Do you possess the ability to read?” Ignis asked, his Caerdicci accent becoming more pronounced as his words became more careful.

“Absolutely,” Noctis answered, sitting up and smiling at Ignis, keeping his tone as neutral as he could. “I love to read.  I even have a few favourite books.”

“Really, Your Highness?” Ignis drawled, tilting his face down and considering Noctis over the rims of his glasses.

“Truly,” Noctis said, piling as much innocence in the word as he could imagine. “I know!  I’ll show you.”

Noctis stood from the chair and crossed the room to his mostly bare bookshelf.  It took a moment for Noctis to locate the book he had in mind, but eventually he found it, his fingers dancing along the leather as he considered.  Three words were embossed in gold along the spine: _Trois Milles Joies._

Noctis removed the book from the shelf and found a dog-eared page, keeping it with his thumb.  He went back to the desk where Ignis sat and placed the book in front of him, opening it to the page he had marked and laying it flat on the desk.  Noctis stood behind and a little to the side of Ignis, waiting for his reaction.

Ignis’s creamy skin turned a delicate shade of pink when his gaze fell on the open book.  Emblazoned across the page was a detailed illustration; a nude, kneeling man held an equally nude, face-down woman up by the thighs, her legs hooked behind his waist and her hands tied behind her back.

“There are no words in this book, Your Highness,” Ignis said, voice tight and strained.

“I know, but the pictures are to  _die_ for.” Noctis leaned over Ignis’s shoulder, lips dangerously close to his tutor’s ear and voice low, “This is a text that Servants of Naamah study in preparation to become adepts.  And this position happens to be one of my favourites.”

Ignis stood abruptly from the desk.  His flush had deepened from pink to crimson.

“We’re done for today,” Ignis said, already walking towards the room’s double-doors.

“You sure you don’t want to borrow it?” Noctis called after his tutor.  He picked the book up from the desk and waved it at Ignis’s back. “You might learn something.”

“I’m _positive_ ,” Ignis hissed just before the doors closed shut behind him.

* * *

Though he knew it wasn’t professional of him, Ignis avoided the Dauphin for several days after their… discussion of D’Angeline literature.  He was certain Noctis didn’t mind—after all, the Dauphin seemed determined to do nothing but poke and prod at Ignis’s Caerdicci sensibilities.  If they could be called sensibilities.  Ignis was beginning to consider them liabilities of the most dangerous kind.

It had been Noctis who had sought him out the previous evening in his study, barging into his room with nary a knock or announcement of his presence.  A meeting of Parliament at which Noctis’s attendance was mandatory was scheduled for the next day.

“That stuff excites you, right? So you’ll come with me,” the Dauphin had said.  It had not been a request.

Ignis found himself, perhaps against his better judgement, looking forward to the session of Parliament.  Seeing the workings of the D’Angeline government would undoubtedly help him get a better handle on portions of Noctis’s curriculum.  A curriculum which Ignis was beginning to despair of ever teaching to his charge.

Ignis was pleased to find Noctis awake, dressed and ready at the appointed time.  Noctis exited his chambers almost as soon as Ignis knocked on the ornate doors.  His blue-black hair was pulled back in a simple tail and he wore the silver and midnight blue of House Courcel; the tunic was an embellished version of the livery other Palace staff wore. A pair of dark breeches and knee-high, polished boots lent an understated elegance to the outfit.  Aside from the Showing—a flare of embarrassment rose in Ignis’s gut at the memory—it was the first time Noctis _looked_ like the Dauphin.

Another thought occurred to Ignis as soon as the first had passed - why did he even _care_ what the Dauphin wore?  He should consider himself fortunate that Noctis wore any clothing at all.

“Your Highness,” Ignis said with a small bow.

“Scientia,” Noctis replied.  Despite the appearance of being awake, the Dauphin’s voice was  hoarse with sleep.  He gave Ignis one of the fainéant, searching once overs that he’d come to expect before speaking again. “Follow me.”

Ignis wouldn’t admit this to the Dauphin, but he was grateful that Noctis took the lead.  The Palace was a massive, sprawling complex of a building.  While Ignis hadn’t gotten lost in a fair number of days, he’d on occasion find himself in a completely different area than he’d intended to go.  He thought he recalled that he Parliament building was located on the far end of the Palace.

Noctis seemed to be leading him in the correct direction.  Ignis half expected them to detour to the kitchens, or to the gaming room, or to any room that wasn’t the Parliament chamber, but Noctis strode purposefully through the palatial hallways.  He had slowed his pace to walk beside Ignis and now directed his twilight blue gaze at Ignis.

“Good, you brought materials to take notes,” Noctis said.

“Yes, Your Highness,” Ignis replied, hands tightening around the folio containing blank paper and a thin stick of graphite.

Perhaps meetings of Parliament were a rare part of Noctis’s duties that he took seriously.  He was on time, dressed appropriately, and leading Ignis to the correct location.

Well, Ignis  _hoped_ he was leading him to the correct location.

The halls began to get busier as they approached the Parliament chamber, more servants and Palace Guard and a few nobles milling about the space.  When it did, Noctis veered sharply down a side passage and motioned for Ignis to follow him.  Noctis strode through the small, twistings corridors with an ease that indicated familiarity.

“Private entrance,” Noctis explained, “I detest going in the front where everyone gawks and gapes.  It’d be worse than usual since you’re attending.”

Ignis breathed an inward sigh of relief.  Noctis probably hadn’t considered his feelings in the matter when he made the decision, but Ignis found himself a bit more relaxed as he followed the Dauphin.  Not that he had any problem in front of crowds—he was used to giving presentations and the occasional lecture—but he was eager to avoid scrutiny by the gossipy elite of Terre d’Ange.

Noctis stopped in front of one final, modest door and cracked it open.  Ingis used his superior height to peer through the gap and, seeing no obvious signs of deception or subterfuge within, accompanied Noctis through the entrance.  After one cramped stairwell up, Ignis found himself on the floor of the Parliament chamber proper.

It was a circular chamber with raised seating, the tables and chairs all of the finest quality wood of a rich mahogany hue.  Ignis noticed thin stripes of marble embellishment on portions of the Parliament seating, a detail that bespoke of the chamber’s luxury.  He’d expected Noctis to have somehow made them late, but though most of the attending nobles were already seated, the meeting hadn’t yet begun.  Queen Aulea and Prince-Consort Regis sat on a raised platform at the middle-rear of the chamber.

Ignis had to resist the urge to palm his face when Noctis gave the Queen and Prince-Consort a saucy wave.  He motioned Ignis forward up a cleverly disguised staircase.  This brought them to a smaller platform beside the Queen’s that contained a table and two chairs.  Noctis took the far chair and Ignis settled in the other.

When the meeting finally began, Ignis felt the comfortable mantle of academia settle upon him.  Not every member of Parliament was in attendance for this meeting; Ignis understood that the Parliament generally only filled when matters of great import were being decided upon.  But there were still quite a few present, and many of them were studying either Ignis or the Dauphin—or both—with great interest.  He wished he could put more faces to titles, but he suspected that would come with time.  He had a fantastic memory for names.

Ignis could expedite the process today, but it would require the Dauphin’s assistance.  He sketched out a rough approximation of the Parliament chamber on the sheet below him.  Steeling himself, he pushed his pad of paper to Noctis and bent to speak to him in a low voice.

“Your Highness, it would be most beneficial if you could indicate the names of the representatives in attendance today.  I’ve left space to write names above the occupied seats.”  Ignis didn’t receive an immediate response, which to be honest didn’t surprise him.

“Your Highness,” Ignis asked again.  When Noctis failed to answer a second time, Ignis leaned over as subtly as he could manage to get a better view of his face.

_Gods_ , the Dauphin was already asleep sitting up, a bit of drool pooling at the corner of his mouth.  _T_ _hese D’Angelines!_

No, Ignis corrected, _this_ D’Angeline!

Ignis’s next action was an attestation to how thin his patience had been stretched.  He reached under the table and pinched Noctis’s thigh as hard as he could manage.  Noctis jumped in his chair, barely biting back his cry of shock.  He turned to Ignis, leveling his twilight blue gaze at Ignis with all the haughtiness his station conferred.

Ignis lowered his lips to Noctis’s ear, keeping his expression neutral for any onlookers.

“If you insist on acting like a child, I will punish you like one,” Ignis said, fully expecting his words to spark an argument.

Strangely, however, they didn’t.  Noctis looked at him, his pale cheeks flushed with a bit of pink, pupils wider than usual.  Ignis felt a pang of guilt—was he ill? Is that why he had fallen asleep?  He watched Noctis’s throat work as he swallowed.

“What did you want, Scientia?” Noctis rasped.

Ignis tapped a long forefinger on the paper in front of Noctis again and proffered his stick of graphite.  “The names of the attending representatives, Your Highness.”

Ignis was pleasantly surprised when a half hour later, he was the proud recipient of a crude but accurate chart with the names of the nobles in attendance.  If Noctis had drawn lewd stick figures and other unflattering doodles in the margins, well, that was to be expected.  Ignis spent the remainder of the session putting faces to names as various individuals spoke, trying his best to ignore the squirming Dauphin beside him.

It was going to be a long day.

* * *

A long day, Ignis thought, had been a grave understatement.

After the Parliament meeting concluded, Noctis insisted on undertaking his lessons for the day.  Ignis agreed under the condition that they would meet in his study, keen to avoid any further incidents with D’Angeline sacred texts.  The lesson had been going remarkably well considering their history… until Noctis had decided to strip himself to the waist, claiming Ignis’s chambers were sweltering.

“Your Highness, are you quite well?  I find the room’s temperature to be perfectly comfortable.  Perhaps you have a fever,” Ignis said, recalling the incident from earlier.

“I most definitely have a fever, and there’s only one thing to break it,” Noctis said, giving that sharp grin Ignis had come to dread.

Ignis turned back to his notes and pointed one finger at the door to his chambers.  Noctis’s throaty laugh as he left Ignis’s study echoed through his mind for hours to come.

Once he could no longer progress further in his own studies, he headed out for another session in the Palace Guard’s training yard.  Even the admittedly satisfying act of stabbing a practice dummy over and over again with his daggers did nothing to relieve his tension.  It crawled across his skin and wound around his spine, pulling his insides taut as a bowstring.

Ignis bathed and readied himself for the House Courcel dinner scheduled for the evening.  He thought about claiming illness to avoid attending.  Ignis decided that Noctis might see that as a victory, and the last thing Ignis wanted was to give Noctis any sort of satisfaction at his expense.  Thankfully the Dauphin had been seated beside the Queen and Prince-Consort instead of Ignis, so Ignis had been able to enjoy both the food and the conversation with a minimal degree of discomfort.  Aside from the Dauphin, the Courcel household had been incredibly welcoming, listening to tales of his studies and journey with unfeigned interest.

Servants began to clear the table as various members of the household went back to their duties.  Freedom was within Ignis’s grasp when Prince-Consort Regis spoke.

“Noctis, be a good host for a change and take Messire Scientia to the salon for a drink.  Blessed Elua knows he needs it after spending the entire day with you.”

The Dauphin gave his father a look of innocence that felt like a noose around Ignis’s neck.  Before he could make an excuse for himself, Noctis spoke.

“Certainly, Father.  It would be my pleasure,” Noctis said.  “Follow me, Scientia.”

The salon was well-decorated like every room in the Palace and modest in size.  The camelback sofa, several bergère armchairs and velvet drapes were all upholstered in the colours of House Courcel.  A shelf of various wines, liquors and glassware took up an entire wall of the room, and it was towards this shelf that Noctis headed.  Ignis sat perched on the edge of the couch, torn between staying and leaving.

“What’s your poison?” Noctis asked, pouring himself a glass of red wine as he waited for Ignis’s response.

_You_ , Ignis thought uncharitably.  He wanted nothing more than to retire for the evening, attempt to rid himself of this damnable tension that gripped him like a vice.  But he didn’t want the Prince-Consort to think him ungrateful for the hospitality, so he relented.

“Brandy, please, if you have it,” Ignis said.  He watched Noctis’s hips shift as he reached up, fetching a glass container of dark liquid from a shelf above him.  Once Noctis had poured the amber liquor into a crystal tumbler, he brought the drink to Ignis and settled beside him on the couch.

“Here you go,” Noctis said, his twilight gaze pinning Ignis.

Ignis took a large swallow of the brandy.  It tasted heavenly and scorched a path all the way down to Ignis’s stomach.  He didn’t regularly imbibe alcohol, but the Prince-Consort had been correct on one point: Ignis needed a drink, badly.  He felt the burn suffuse outward from his core, warmth pulsing all the way to his fingers and toes.

Ignis was so enraptured by the exquisite taste of the brandy that it took him a moment to notice how close Noctis sat to him.  There was plenty of space that Noctis’s closeness was entirely unnecessary.  Ignis shifted further down the couch, putting distance between his body and Noctis’s.

“How did you find the Parliament meeting?” Noctis asked, taking a sip of his wine.

“It was quite educational.  I hope the opportunity to attend more sessions presents itself,” Ignis said, keeping his tone neutral.

“I could ask Mother if you’d be permitted to attend without me.  You could take notes and tell me the high points afterwards,” Noctis said, grinning over the rim of his goblet.  Ignis didn’t bother to disguise his sigh.

“Your Highness, part of that hope includes your attendance as well.  I have much to offer you in the ways of foreign policy, languages, literature, and history, but the culture and governance of Terre d’Ange are unfamiliar to me.”

“I don’t doubt you have much to offer me, Scientia. Not at all,” Noctis purred, sliding along the couch so that he was seated directly next to Ignis again.  Ignis clenched his jaw in frustration.

“If only Your Highness would deign to be taught,” Ignis said wryly, taking another long drink from his glass.

“Perhaps I would… if I could teach you in return,” Noctis replied.  His body was pressed against the length of Ignis’s now, warm and firm.  When Ignis drew in a sharp breath, he caught the sensual scent of jasmine emanating from the Dauphin; it was enough to make his head swim in a way that had nothing to do with the brandy.

As soon as he allowed himself that thought, anger and a sharp spasm of disgust followed in its wake.  _Gods_!  His impeccable self-control, the control he’d maintained for years, would _not_ be undone by a spoiled D’Angeline lordling who thought with his phallus instead of his brain.

“Noctis, _stop_ ,” Ignis growled through clenched teeth.  A billow of shock cut through his anger and disgust as Noctis immediately withdrew, so quick that Ignis hadn’t even registered the movement.

“I’m sorry, I thought…” Noctis said, for all the world looking genuinely chagrined, “After the Showing, I thought you were interested in men after all.”

The Showing was the very last subject Ignis wanted to discuss, so of course Noctis would bring it up.  His anger spiked further.  “Ah, yes, the Showing which you so thoughtfully arranged for my humiliation and embarrassment.  Pray tell, Your Highness, which part indicated my interest in men—the part where I was chastised for said embarrassment or the part where I removed myself from the situation and was subsequently left behind at Cereus House?”

Noctis drew back at Ignis’s words, his own eyes heating with anger.  “No, Scientia, the part where your eyes were glued to Nyx nó Heliotrope and him alone.  Look me in the eyes and tell me without lying that you’re not interested in men.”

Ignis turned to look Noctis in the eyes; he could feel fury blazing in his own emerald gaze and was powerless to stop it, as powerless as he was to stop the words he hurled like daggers in the Dauphin’s direction, precise and brutal.

“Whether or not I’m interested in men is irrelevant, Your Highness, because I’m not interested in _you_.  I will never _be_ interested in you.  You are spoiled, selfish, ignorant, and have done nothing but insult and torment me from the hour I arrived.”

Noctis sat in stunned silence, gaping at Ignis.  Ignis stared the Dauphin down, too angry to feel the horror and shame lurking beneath its surface.  Ignis thought he may as well pack his belongings tonight, then suppressed a completely inappropriate giggle at the thought.

“Well.  At least you were honest about _something_ ,” Noctis hissed, slamming his goblet of wine down so hard on the nearby table that it shattered.  He gave Ignis one last enervating glare before stalking out of the room, looking for all the world like an angry cat.

Ignis sat frozen on the couch, his eyes drawn to the garnet liquid dripping down the curved legs of the end table.  He debated chasing after Noctis, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to apologize or continue to tell him exactly what was on his mind.

Ignis didn’t follow the Dauphin.  He did knock back the rest of his brandy in one fell swoop before going to the cabinet and pouring himself another.  Ignis went back to the couch, settled back into its plush cushions, and enjoyed what might be his last night of hospitality at the grace of House Courcel alone in the salon.

* * *

Noctis stormed back to his chambers in a furious blur.  How  _dare_ that prudish Caerdicci speak to him in that manner?  What right did he have?  His steps thundered against the floor, his anger lending weight to his footfalls.

Noctis felt tears building behind his eyes, felt them spill over his cheeks, brushed them away with a harsh swipe of his hand.  Why did he care if his idiotic tutor didn’t like him?  No, he didn’t care.  He was the Dauphin of Terre d’Ange—plenty of people didn’t like him.  Noctis had grown up with that knowledge, was reminded of it every time some noble that simpered to his face whispered cruel words behind his back.

What did it matter if Ignis had rejected him outright?  There were plenty of other gorgeous, available men and women that would sleep with Noctis at a crook of his finger.  He didn’t need his stuck up prick of a tutor to be among that number.  In fact, he didn’t _want_ Ignis to be among that number.  He wouldn’t sully himself with the man.  Let his repression and books keep him company.

Noctis shoved opened the doors to his chambers when he reached them.  He called upon his magic and, in one broad sweep of his hand, lit every lamp in his chamber simultaneously, fire roaring to life in the sconces.  He turned to the fireplace and, even though it was a warm spring night, poured magic into the wood there.  Noctis watched as a massive column of flame spouted up the chimney, a wave of heat blasting from the fireplace, before it settled into a normal sized fire.

He fought back the urge to light the curtains on fire.  Barely.

Noctis paced back and forth, his thoughts racing, unwanted tears coalescing on his long lashes and falling to the carpet beneath him.  The usage of magic had abated his rage enough for him to notice the sizeable shard of glass lodged in his palm.  Blood ran freely down his fingers and dripped onto the carpet; if he hadn’t been so upset, the sight might have made him woozy.

Noctis screwed his watery twilight eyes shut, trying to draw upon the magic of healing rather than destruction.  He struggled to wrest control of the magic—it made him think about Ignis again, recalling his tutor’s derisive question during their conversation about Noctis’s healing powers.

“Stupid Ignis _fucking_ Scientia,” Noctis spat, feeling a perverse pleasure at the vulgar swear.  The pastel green of healing magic finally engulfed his hand.  Noctis grimaced at the pressure of the glass being pushed from his flesh as the wound knitted closed, leaving nothing behind except rivulets of blood.

Noctis’s thoughts snapped to Ignis’s parting words in the salon.  He was selfish, was he? He was ignorant? Oh, Noctis thought, we’ll see about that, _Messire_ Scientia.

After a quick visit to the wash basin, Noctis went to his desk and fetched the readings Ignis had assigned him, fingers clenched tightly enough around the paper to crumple it somewhat.  If reading these dry, dull passages was Ignis’s idea of education, Noctis would do it.  He’d prove to Ignis that he was more than capable of any challenge the Caerdicci could throw at him, and he’d laugh in his face when it was through.

He’d also show Messire High and Mighty a few painful truths about himself… with a little help from Elua, Naamah, and the Night Court.

Noctis allowed himself a grim smile at that—and then he set to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're reading this, thank you. Thank you so much, from the bottom of our hearts. We truly appreciate it more than words can say! <3
> 
> Up next week: Ignis visits the Night Court, a.k.a. the HMS Gladnis spotted on the horizon...


	7. Be Soothed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noctis sends Ignis to Balm House for some relaxation.

Ignis had only been at his duties for a scant fortnight when the Dauphin barged into his study with a determined look on his finely-chiseled features. Noctis strode over to stand in front of Ignis’s desk, and tossed a small piece of ivory dead center on the paper Ignis was studiously absorbed in.

Curiously, Ignis picked it up, admiring the clean lines of the flower etched on one side. The other side had tiny words printed that he could just barely discern, ‘Rest and Be Soothed’.

“This is lovely,” he said, his tone a bit uncertain as he wasn’t entirely certain what it was. A gift of some sort? The craftsmanship of the piece was certainly fine enough for one. Bowing his head respectfully for a moment, he murmured his thanks.

“Elua’s balls, man!” Noctis exclaimed, leaning forward and grasping the edge of the desk with both hands, those azure eyes cutting in their intensity as they locked on those of mossy green. “This is a Night Court token. Remember, from your Showing?”

Ignis had done his best to put that awkward night out of his mind, but he obediently racked his brain. Ah, yes. The Dowayne had kindly explained the custom of these flower-stamped tokens. If his recollections were correct - and they usually were - this small, inconspicuous piece of ivory entitled him to an assignation free of charge, save whatever patron-gift he chose to bestow upon the adept in appreciation of their skills.

But why in the world would his liege think Ignis would want to go back to the Night Court so soon after the debacle which was his visit to Cereus? After how poorly he had conducted himself at the Showing so thoughtfully arranged for his benefit?

He could hardly refuse a gift from the Dauphin, though. And it wasn’t like he’d never been with a woman. Ignis was a healthy young man, and sometimes one just needed to burn off some tension in between exams. That sort of recreation was accepted even back in the comparatively-reserved Tiberium. Ignis had generally found those liaisons distasteful, but he couldn’t deny the wane in stress that followed physical release. He just preferred to take care of such matters himself, rather than in a woman’s company.

Squaring his shoulders, Ignis stood, and bowed formally to his lord. “How thoughtful of you, Your Highness. I shall save this token for the proper occasion.”

“No, you’re going today. Right now.” Noctis’s voice was insistent, his face frustrated. “You need a break, Ignis,” he continued, and his voice was softer, kinder, but that implacable steel was still sheathed beneath the velvety timbre.

Ignis barely managed to bite back a put-upon sigh, but he nodded in acceptance of certainly the most unconventional royal command he had been given to date. “As you wish, Dauphin. Might I have a few hours to prepare myself?”

Noctis looked at him incredulously. “There’s a bath being drawn in your quarters as we speak.”

The royal tutor felt his cheeks heat in self-recrimination. He should have realized when Noctis said ‘right now’ it wasn’t _quite_ that literal.

He still had questions that required answering before that bath.

“And where am I to go on this venture?” His Caerdicci accent strengthened, the only outward sign of his nerves.

He hoped.

“Balm House,” Noctis explained, pointing at the flower on the token, flipping it over to reveal what Ignis now recalled was their House motto.

Balm House, then. Perhaps that wouldn’t be so bad, Ignis mused. They were the house devoted to healing and relaxation, if his memory served. Gods, he’d have to remember to do more research on the Night Court, his reservations be damned. It simply wasn’t acceptable that his education be lacking on such a fundamental part of D’Angeline culture.

“Very well. Are there other customs I should know about that weren’t covered at the Showing?”

The Dauphin shook his head in negation, causing the small sapphire beads at the ends of the scattered braids in his onyx hair to click against one another. “Just try and relax. Don’t overthink it.” His rosebud mouth quirked in a sardonic grin. “Get out of that brain of yours for a while and try to live in the moment.” Noctis’s mein turned serious. “Above all, remember Blessed Elua’s precept - _love as thou wilt_. No one will force you beyond what you’re comfortable with, Ignis.” 

The words were warmly reassuring, and exactly what the scholar needed to hear.

“Thank you, my lord Dauphin.”

“Noctis.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I have a name,” the heir of House Courcel pointed out a bit tartly. “And we’ll be working together closely enough that I don’t see a need to stand on ceremony.”

“As you wish… Noctis.”

The Dauphin’s brilliant smile made what Ignis felt was impropriety more than worth it.

* * *

As Ignis stood in the foyer of Balm House later that evening, he strived for an outward calm, refusing to let anyone see how discomfited he was to be in this place. His heart hammered uncomfortably in his chest, and it took all his self control to continue breathing at an even, sedate tempo.

Upon his arrival, he’d been greeted by an initiate of the house who had led him into a small, comfortable reception room. Ignis had gratefully accepted the offer of a cup of tea, and he cupped it in his hands, enjoying the way the delicate porcelain warmed his palms. He sipped at the soothing beverage, though each time he saw one of the Servants of Naamah cross through the room in search of their patrons, he’d stare until he determined they weren’t aimed in his direction.

So intent was he on one such scrutiny that he didn’t even notice someone had sat down in the chair beside his.

“Ignis?” A low voice rumbled warmly, the hint of something not quite D’Angeline expressed by the way he formed the vowels of the advisor's name.

Ignis turned to glance curiously at the man and felt his mouth go dry.

Sitting beside him was a hulking brute of a man, his bare arms painted with intricate woad tattoos - ah, it was the trace of a Cruithne accent he’d detected, then. Those arms were more heavily muscled than most of the guardsmen he’d encountered at the Palace, Ignis realized, feeling momentarily weak. The large man had long hair, not quite a true black in hue but rather colored akin to that of the finest dark chocolate. It was pulled back from his face in a simple tail, revealing the first facial hair Ignis had seen since coming to the City of Elua, a carefully groomed beard that hugged the strong line of the stranger’s jaw perfectly.

And those eyes. Gods preserve him, how could a mere mortal have eyes the color of well-aged honey?

When Ignis heard his name lifted in inquiry a second time, he flushed, realizing he’d been staring so hard he’d neglected to respond. “Yes?”

The other man offered him a welcoming smile, further warming those amber eyes. “I’m Gladiolus nó Balm. I believe you have my token?”

Ignis couldn’t breathe. He fancied his heart had stopped beating for a long moment upon hearing those simple words. His expression must have been deeply troubled with how strongly Gladiolus reacted.

“Are you all right?” That gruff tone was all concern now, and Ignis felt a massive hand land on his shoulder, squeezing in what was presumably meant to be comfort. “Talk to me, Ignis.”

“I am… I…” Ignis stammered, lost for words for the first time he could remember.

He was expected to dally with a _man_?

Ignis didn’t bother attempting to speak for several long minutes. Balm must have taught its adepts patience, for Gladiolus seemed content enough to wait silently while Ignis collected himself.

His body language must have eventually softened, because careful words were shaped in a bass rumble.

“Why don’t we go somewhere quieter?” Gladiolus suggested, gesturing around the rapidly-crowding room, filling with adepts and patrons as the hour grew late.

“Indeed,” Ignis agreed, pushing to his feet and looking to the adept for guidance.

Ignis felt a warm hand press at the base of his spine, and he forced his feet to move, walking beside the larger man as gracefully as he could manage, his thoughts a tumultuous tumble.  
He recalled Noctis’s words from before - he knew he wouldn’t be pressured to engage in anything he truly didn’t wish - but…

Ignis was uncomfortably aware of the heat radiating from the hulking man at his side, painfully cognizant of the savage beauty bred into his face with the commingling of D’Angeline and Cruithne blood.

He wondered how much of that muscular body was painted with intricate tattoos, how the blue woad pinprick pattern would intersect with the more stately lines of his marque?

How those molten eyes would look when he came undone?

These D’Angelines were infecting him with their improper ways, Ignis feared. But, perhaps it was best to acclimate to the culture as he’d be here for years, provided His Highness continued to be pleased with his service.

When Gladiolus lead him into an open, airy room, Ignis looked around with unfeigned curiosity. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting - nothing but a large bed, perhaps, and a collection of _aides d’amour_ \- but it certainly hadn’t been this.

Large bookshelves lined one entire wall, filled to bursting with so many books that Ignis wondered if Gladio were even more well-read than he himself. His fingers itched to run along those spines, trace the lettering, discover the treasures hidden in those pages.

There was a bed, but it wasn’t nearly as massive as Ignis’s preconceived notions had assumed. It was tastefully made up with simple white sheets and what looked to be a sumptuously soft coverlet in deepest green, beckoning a silent invitation to take one’s ease.

Two overstuffed armchairs sat opposite the bed, appearing the perfect place to relax with one of those books.

One corner seemed to hold a small bathing pool, of all things. Rather than a tub such as the one Ignis had used in his quarters earlier that afternoon, this was set into the flooring itself. He was intrigued by the engineering and decided to try and study it later, if there was time.

Ignis realized that perhaps it was rude of him to inspect what must be the adept’s private quarters so intensely, and he turned his attention back to the large man, a polite smile lifting the corners of his mouth slightly.

“Not what you were expecting?” Gladiolus’s voice was as warm and sweet as the honey of those striking eyes, and filled with a teasing tone Ignis was not accustomed to hearing aimed in his direction.

He wasn’t sure if he liked it. But he thought he might.

“No,” Ignis said honestly. “But then, I hardly knew what to expect.”

“Never been to the Night Court?”

“Ah… only one other time,” Ignis admitted a bit reluctantly.

Gladiolus honed in on his tone and frowned. “Bad experience?”

“Not… bad. Just,” Ignis floundered for the proper word in the D’Angeline tongue a moment. 

“Different. So very different than home.”

“Yeah,” Gladiolus said. “You don’t sound like you’re from around here.”

The adept gestured towards the pair of chairs, and Ignis sat in one gratefully, crossing his legs and folding his hands atop one thigh.

“Nor do you,” Ignis countered, a sardonic purr rasping in the words as he allowed his accent to flourish.

Gladiolus barked a short laugh as he sat in the other chair. He wore a companionable grin when he spoke again. “What, the tattoos weren’t enough of a clue for an educated man such as yourself?”

Ignis smirked. “They could be fake.”

Gladiolus’s face was indescribably delightful, the way those heavy eyebrows slanted down in shock at the suggestion. “They aren’t.”

“Prove it.” The words slipped out before Ignis really had a chance to think about what he was demanding.

The Balm Adept was the one smirking now, those gilded eyes rife with amusement as he extended an arm towards Ignis in tacit invitation. When it became apparent the gesture wasn’t sufficient, he spoke. “Touch me and see for yourself.”

Ignis knew his pale skin was painted crimson, but Gladiolus didn’t seem to be judging him for it. Tentatively he trailed a fingertip over the lines of woad, following the lines of Gladiolus’s bicep.  
He already knew the markings were authentic, but given the opportunity to touch, he felt compelled to inspect them at length. And Gladiolus certainly didn’t seem to mind.

Ignis followed the patterns to their conclusion at the large man’s wrist, and began the journey back up towards his shoulder, stretching a bit out of his seat when he was unable to follow the lines along the base of Gladiolus’s neck. He continued to utilize only one fingertip, noticing with a detached sort of interest the way Gladiolus’s skin seemed to shiver beneath the delicate touches.

Gladiolus smiled at him, that handsome face open and clearly interested. “They continue down my chest and cover my entire back. If you were curious.”

Ignis couldn’t help the way his verdant gaze shot wide at that revelation, and he realized the sharp gasp cutting the silence was his own.

The adept rose in a graceful motion and pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it aside carelessly. “See?”

Oh, Ignis _saw_. He drank in the sight of the inky blue swirls and lines extending over the entirety of Gladiolus’s well-defined back, save for the bronzed skin over his spine which was embellished with a row of balm flowers. Rather than detracting from the overall work of art, the marque merely added to the exotic beauty of the whole.

“They look like feathers, like wings,” Ignis said, awe in his voice.

“Hey, good eye,” Gladiolus complimented him. “Not everyone gets that at first.” His grin was hardened by experience. “Too many see the woad and just think ‘foreigner,’ not bothering to actually look at it.”

“That’s their loss, then,” Ignis said firmly. “Your tattoos are as lovely as your marque. It’s brilliant how both patterns weave together so seamlessly.”

“Heh. Thanks.” Gladiolus sat back down and crossed his legs at the ankle, folding his arms over that impressively wide chest. “I saw you checking out my bookshelves. You read a lot, I’m sure.”

“Indeed,” Ignis agreed. “I studied for many years under the finest Masters the University had to offer.”

“Probably not much on my shelves to interest you, then, but why not take a look?” Gladiolus offered. “I don’t have much by way of scholarly tomes, but I’ve got some good stories and I’m happy to share them.”

Ignis hardly needed any encouragement. He rose with alacrity, hastening over to the shelves and pouring over the titles with great interest.

When Gladiolus came up beside him and rested a hand at the small of his back again, he scarcely noticed, so enrapt was he. “I haven’t even heard of half of these,” he enthused, not realizing he’d lapsed into his native Caerdicci. “This is an amazing collection, Gladiolus.”

“I don’t know what you’re saying,” Gladiolus replied. “But it sounds good, so keep talkin’.”

Ignis swore softly under his breath when he realized his lapse. “I’m terribly sorry.”

“Don’t be. Your language is like music. And your passion is wonderful to hear.”

Ignis smiled shyly, and turned back to the bookshelf. “Anything you’d recommend?”

“Why don’t you tell me why you came to Balm?” Gladio asked.

“Truthfully? It wasn’t my idea,” Ignis laughed a bit self-deprecatingly. “I work as a tutor, an advisor, to the Dauphin.”

He saw Gladiolus nod in understanding, and continued to speak.

“His Highness thought I needed to take a break from my work and relax.”

“He was probably right. I could see how tense you were when I first saw you, all hunched over that teacup.” While Gladiolus’s words were starkly honest, they weren’t mean-spirited.

“Try this,” he said, passing Ignis a slim tome. “It’s poetry by one of the D’Angeline greats. His works were banned for a time, but once Ysandre de la Courcel ascended the throne she revoked the restriction and new copies of his work started to circulate.”

“My thanks,” Ignis said, cradling the book against his chest protectively. “I’ll return it promptly, I promise.”

“I’m not worried,” Gladiolus grinned. “I’ll just send to the Palace if it goes missing, yeah?”

That palm pressed to the base of Ignis’s spine again, and this time he noticed. Oh, how he noticed.

“So tell me, Ignis,” Gladiolus said. “Since this assignation wasn’t your idea, what did you want to get from it?”

“I don’t know,” Ignis admitted. “I, well…” he desperately hoped his confession wouldn’t be seen as an insult. “I assumed you’d be female, for one, and that we’d… well.” He couldn’t quite make himself say it, not being as accustomed as these D’Angelines to speaking of such matters with frankness.

Gladiolus nodded in understanding. “Would you feel more comfortable with a woman? I can speak to the Dowayne.”

“No!” It was hard to say who was more startled by the vehemence of Ignis’s staccato denial, as topaz eyes cleaved unto emerald.

“No,” Ignis repeated in a more suitably controlled tone. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Then, do you want to…” Gladiolus trailed off meaningfully, cocking his head towards the bed.

“I don’t think I’m… I mean, I don’t…” Ignis broke the heated gaze and looked anywhere but at the half-naked adept before him.

“…soak in the tub?” Gladiolus continued as if Ignis had never stammered a single word.  
Ignis blinked. “That sounds… nice,” he said a bit hesitantly.

“Great!” Gladiolus said. He moved through the room with a casual grace Ignis couldn’t help but admire, gathering up towels and candles. He turned and crooked a finger at Ignis, and the tutor couldn’t help but follow, knowing it was he who’d be the student tonight.

Ignis watched as Gladiolus arranged the candles at intervals along the edge of the tub, lighting them all with a practiced ease. When the adept doused the lamps, Ignis gasped in surprise, but his eyes quickly adjusted to the flickering candlelight.

Gladiolus turned his back to give Ignis some privacy. “Let me know when you’re settled.”

Ignis wasted no time in shucking his clothes, piling them to one side and desperately hoping they wouldn’t wrinkle from the lackadaisical treatment. He lowered himself into the hot water with a languorous sigh, resting back comfortably against the sturdy marble.

He heard the bass rumble of Gladiolus’s chuckle. “I take it you’re comfortable?”

“Quite.”

“Ignis, would you mind if I massaged your shoulders?” Gladiolus asked.

Ignis didn’t see the harm in such things. A backrub was a far cry from buggery. “Please.”

When Gladiolus’s strong fingers began to work their magic, Ignis groaned. “You’re very good at that.”

“Had to make my marque somehow,” Gladiolus’s voice held that teasing note again, the timbre causing something warm and disconcertingly familiar to uncoil in Ignis’s gut.

“Elua, you’re tense.” Those fingers dug in more firmly, working out knots that had grown on top of knots. “Tell that Dauphin to give you more time off.”

Now it was Ignis’s turn to laugh. “He doesn’t work me terribly hard,” Ignis said. “In truth, it’s my own studies that keep me up at night.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t study so hard,” Gladiolus advised. “It’s important to take care of yourself, Ignis. Your body needs to rest.” His voice was earnest as he pressed his fingers into the back of Ignis’s neck.

“Maybe you’re right,” Ignis admitted, tipping his head forward to give Gladiolus better access to the length of his neck. He imagined the tension of the many long days floating away on the hot water, seeping from his pores as he soaked in the mingled delights of the pool and the massage.

Ignis felt Gladiolus’s clever fingers slide up into his hair, massaging his scalp with care, managing not to tangle or tug.

He pondered what it would feel like if Gladiolus curled those fingers in his hair, much the way Ignis had done to previous lovers, pulling him in for a kiss.

He wondered if Gladiolus’s lips would taste like the honey Ignis was reminded of by his startlingly beautiful eyes.

Gods. These D’Angelines were tempting him to take leave of his senses entirely.

And yet…

He needed to learn more about D’Angeline culture. ‘All knowledge is worth having’ was one famous sentiment from this foreign land Ignis agreed with wholeheartedly. The Night Court held an ancient and honored place in the Terre d’Ange. Perhaps he’d be remiss if he didn’t more fully sample all it had to offer. And certainly, Gladiolus hadn’t behaved at all as he’d expected - feared - an adept would, leaving everything up to Ignis, never pushing or forcing his attentions.

“Gladiolus?”

“Yeah?”

“May I kiss you?”

Gladiolus’s hands seemed to tighten on Ignis’s shoulders for such a brief moment that Ignis was probably imagining it.

“Of course.”

Ignis felt Gladiolus lean forward, saw the long tail of his hair slide forward to dip into the water, tickling against Ignis’s clavicle. He took a deep breath, and remembered another portion of the Dauphin’s earlier advice.

_Get out of that brain of yours for a while and try to live in the moment._

Carpe diem, then, Ignis thought as he tilted his head to brush his lips against Gladiolus’s in the barest hint of a kiss, the touch feathery and ephemeral.

He didn’t taste like honey.

He tasted like… Gods be damned if Ignis could put it into words.

All he knew was he wanted more.

 _So_ much more.

“Was that okay?” Gladiolus purred in that bass rumble, Cruithne accent somehow simultaneously smoothing the vowels and roughening the consonants.

“Quite,” Ignis said, voice breathy.

“Wanna do it again?”

“Yes. Please.”

This time, it was Gladiolus who initiated the kiss. Just as Ignis had imagined, that large hand was gentle as it slid into his hair, anchoring Ignis amidst the storm of emotions crashing into him, borne by the adept’s skilled mouth.

Ignis felt Gladiolus’s tongue swipe against his lips and he parted them without a thought, moving his tongue against the other man’s reflexively.

_Just try and relax. Don’t overthink it._

They exchanged increasingly heated kisses for moments that to Ignis’s desire-clouded mind seemed to span hours, mouths moving against one other languidly, neither man in a rush to progress things with undue haste.

Gladiolus must have noticed the way his lithe frame was shivering, and Ignis wasn’t certain whether to be relieved or frustrated at the adept’s misinterpretation of his body language.

“Water gettin’ cold? I’ve got towels right here.” Gladiolus moved back and Ignis bit back a protest, wanting more of those delectable kisses even as he mentally castigated himself for his weakness.

“Don’t worry. I won’t look.” Gladiolus misunderstood Ignis’s hesitance to exit the tub, but that was all right. Probably for the best, Ignis mused, that he not get too enmeshed in this… exploration.

 _Just enough for educational purposes_ , he promised himself as he climbed out of the pool, wrapping himself in a voluminous towel.

Ignis reached out and laid a hand on Gladiolus’s impressive shoulder, though he yanked it back so quickly one might think he was burned by the fiery-blue lines of woad.

Gladiolus turned towards him wearing an easy smile, golden eyes dark with knowledge, bright with promise.

“So, Ignis,” Gladio quirked one chestnut brow inquisitively. “How would you like to pass the rest of your allotted time?”

How could another man’s voice sound so… appealing? That warm bass rumble sent delicious trembles coursing along Ignis’s spine that he wasn’t quite ready to admit were there.

Ignis was at war with himself. He wasn’t sure what it was about Gladiolus - maybe it was the natural, sensual grace carried by all those who served Naamah - but from the moment they’d entered the adept’s chamber, Ignis had felt at ease, more comfortable than ever he’d expected to be in a pleasure-house. He was as fascinated by the husky quality the Cruithne accent lent to Gladiolus’s solicitous words as equally as he was transfixed by the startling beauty of the tattoos ornamenting his strong body. Not to mention the surprising literature collection, the tasteful decor of the room.

Gladiolus was a mystery to the Caerdicci man, and one Ignis was filled with a growing aspiration to solve.

And Ignis realized much to his chagrin, he’d again answered what was a simple question with a drawn-out silence. Drat.

“I defer to your judgement,” he settled on. “In these matters, you are the expert.” Ignis’s eyes were hazy with indecision, the lines of his body taut with mingled desire and nerves. “I don’t wish to… well.” If he stammered a bit, he didn’t think he’d be met with judgement for his inelegant words within the sanctity of Balm House. “But, beyond that… what do you suggest?”

Gladiolus nodded, a pleased smile wreathing his rugged features in the brightness of his delight. “You’re safe with me, Ignis. I’ve got you.”

“Then I entrust myself to your capable ministrations.”

Ignis felt a weight lift off his shoulder as he gave his words of consent. The decision making was out of his hands. He didn’t have to direct the evening, and he knew if he felt the slightest discomfort, aught he need do was raise the word and Gladiolus would honor the precepts set forth by his gods.

“C’mere,” Gladiolus said, taking Ignis’s hand and leading him to that plush, inviting bed.

If Ignis were a vain man, he might have fancied the way that the dark forest green of the coverlet would highlight his own verdant gaze, the way the crisp white of the sheets would add color to his pallid complexion.

Instead, he focused on enjoying the pliant give of the pillows beneath his head, the softness of the cotton under his back.

If there was a tiny voice inside his head screaming incoherently at the fact he was in another man’s bed, wearing naught but a towel, well… he was only human, and struggling against decades of social conditioning.

Ignis thought he was doing rather well, considering he’d only been in the City of Elua nigh on two weeks.

His thoughts were pulled back into the now when Gladiolus climbed beside him, stretching out that tall frame invitingly. The adept opened his arms, and repeated himself: “C’mere.”  
Ignis rolled carefully closer, one hand grasping at the towel to ensure it stayed in place to preserve what little modesty he had left at this point.

Gladiolus helpfully met him halfway, drawing Ignis against his bulk with gentle arms, enfolding him in the heady sensation of the most comforting embrace Ignis had ever experienced in his adult life.

To be fair, Ignis hadn’t felt so surrounded, so comparatively small, since he’d been a young lad hugged by his parents.

And this? This was nothing like that.

Not at all.

Gladiolus’s strength was soothing rather than alarming. Ignis realized with startling clarify he’d never felt so incredibly safe, so protected, so cherished.

If this was what it was like to visit an Adept of the Night Court, well…

Ignis truly must remember to thank His Highness.

Some small voice deep within his keen mind suggested that some of this feeling was likely pure Gladiolus, and not to be experienced with other adepts, no matter how skillfully they were trained.

Few words were spoken and none were necessary. Ignis allowed his eyes to flutter shut behind the lenses of his spectacles and drank in the moment, his breathing slowing to match the steady tempo of Gladiolus’s. With his ear pressed so tautly against the larger man’s chest, Ignis could count every beat of his heart, and it was almost meditative. He felt Gladiolus idly stroke a hand along the still damp skin of his back and murmured something in Caerdicci, feeling too somnolent to wrap his tongue around the D’Angeline phrases.

When Gladio purred a response in Cruithne, Ignis determined it was his next language to learn. Perhaps he could convince the Dauphin to join him in that study, as it would do His Highness well politically to be able to speak directly with their Alban allies.

The feel of Gladiolus’s lips on his forehead was so unexpectedly tender that Ignis had to remind himself that this was a business transaction. Gladiolus certainly would show this level of attentiveness to all his patrons, or how would he have made his marque at such a comparatively young age?

But he allowed himself the momentary indulgence that perhaps, just perhaps, Gladiolus found himself just as fascinating as Ignis was finding the Balm Adept to be.

Gladiolus had lent him a book, after all. He’d have to see him again to return it.

And, more tellingly, Gladiolus’s generosity had occurred before the bath, the massage, the kisses.

This astonishingly mind-altering embrace.

Ignis dared to press his lips against the coarse hair along Gladiolus’s jawline, and he felt the adept’s face shift in what he assumed was a smile. Since Gladiolus did nothing to dissuade him, he placed another kiss on his chin where the beard was thicker, and he decided that while the feel it beneath his lips was different, it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. Ignis’s next kiss landed on the smooth plane of Gladiolus’s cheek, wanting to taste his skin. No. It was decidedly not unpleasant.

“Ignis,” the adept exhaled his name like a prayer. And, for one of Naamah’s Chosen, perhaps it was.

In a response that felt as natural as breathing, Ignis melded his lips to Gladiolus’s, and he fancied he could hear the beating of wings ringing in his ears as a tiny piece of himself was utterly lost.

* * *

The next thing Ignis was cognizant of was awakening in that luxurious bed.

He was alone.

Ignis pushed to be sitting upright, looking around the chamber with growing anxiety. What time was it? Gods, he should’ve been more careful. Not only had he probably overstayed his welcome, he had duties to attend to back at the Palace.

Rising from the bed, he found that Gladiolus had at some point thoughtfully folded his clothing into a neat stack on one of the armchairs. After Ignis dressed himself, he found the book of poems resting on the seat, and the sight of the careworn tome made him smile.

If Gladiolus still wished to lend him the book - to see him again - then perhaps his lapse wasn’t as rude as he had feared.

A tentative knock on the door startled him. Feeling a bit awkward at the scenario of answering someone else’s door, he nonetheless did so, finding a servant on the other side.

“Some breakfast before you go?” The lass offered deferentially. “Courtesy of Adept Gladiolus.”

Ignis smiled kindly and accepted the tray gratefully. “My thanks.”

He took the tray back into the room, and in the absence of a table, balanced it on his knees, sitting in one of those overstuffed, ridiculously comfortable chairs. It was a simple meal of bread and cheese. When he lifted the glass of water to take a drink, Ignis noticed a scrap of paper had been anchored beneath the goblet.

_Come see me again soon. -G_

Ignis slipped the note into his pocket. He fancied it would make an acceptable bookmark as he read through the poetry collection. It would be wasteful to cast it away, after all.

After he finished the light repast, Ignis took his leave of Balm House, after entrusting his patron-gift to the Dowayne’s safe keeping. He refused their magnanimous offer of a carriage back to the Palace. No. Ignis needed the time to think.

The morning air was bracing, and it was as equally helpful as the perambulation for rousing Ignis the rest of the way to coherent thought.

Now that he was away from the sensual spell cast over him by Gladiolus’s mere existence, Ignis’s mind was troubled.

He’d had an assignation with a man. Kissed him. Embraced him.

Enjoyed him.

Ignis’s upbringing screamed at him that he should be ashamed, should never go back again, should throw away the book that burned in his fingers and forget the entire night had ever happened.

And yet…

Gods, he didn’t _want_ to forget. Ignis had no wish to pretend that something in him was irrevocably altered by the preceding night. Perhaps as he went about his work in the light of day, his feelings would change, but at this moment, walking down the city streets with a lightness in his step that hadn’t been there since his feet first touched the pavement of the City of Elua, it was all he could do to keep heading towards his responsibilities and not turn around and rush back into Gladiolus’s strong arms.

When Ignis returned to the Palace he made haste to his chambers, eschewing another bath in favor of dressing quickly. After carefully setting aside the book, having smoothed the note between the front cover and the first page, he made his way to the study set aside for him by the Queen.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have been surprised to find the Dauphin waiting for him, a knowing smirk curling those matte rose lips in a catlike manner. Eyes the rich color of sapphires sparkled with undisguised curiosity.

“Ignis.” Noctis greeted him, somehow making a simple greeting into a lascivious demand for information.

“Highness.” If Ignis’s reply was a bit stiff, well, he had forgotten how candid D’Angelines were in these matters.

“Now, now,” the Dauphin purred in that velvety tenor, standing and stalking towards Ignis, his carriage predatory. The faint click of his braids was a dark mirror to the shortness of Ignis’s breath. “What did I tell you about my name?” Noctis’s eyes darkened, pupils wide. “Say it.”

Ignis swallowed audibly. He felt a twist in his gut that was similar to when he first laid eyes on Gladiolus. “Noctis.”

“Very good,” he praised the tutor.

Ignis felt the flush riding on his cheekbones, and hoped he’d face as little judgement for it here as he had at Balm. Going by the gleam in Noctis’s eyes, however, Ignis’s blush did not go unnoticed.

“Yes. Well.” Ignis gave himself a moment to collect his thoughts, finding solace in the simple task of cleaning the lenses of his glasses. “I must thank you, Noctis.”

“Had a good night, then?” Noctis leered - the Dauphin of Terre d’Ange was _leering_ at him - and moved closer still, stepping into Ignis’s personal space without seeming to care.

“Quite.” The word was clipped, veiled in his Caerdicci accent.

“Do tell,” his student implored, blessedly walking away from Ignis and falling lazily into a chair.

“We spoke about literature. The Adept you chose for me is quite the bibliophile.”

“That’s all?” Noctis’s voice was appalled.

Ignis arched an ash-blonde brow, lips drawing down in a frown. “I was given to understand that what occurs within an assignation is private.”

Noctis’s rosebud lips fell into a pout.

Ignis was not thinking about how those lips might feel. They looked thinner and softer than Gladiolus’s, but Ignis knew looks could be deceiving.

 _Gods_ , these D’Anglines.

“You’re right,” the Dauphin reluctantly agreed. His sardonic expression softened into a genuine smile. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself, Ignis.”

“My thanks.”

“So, what’s today’s lesson?”

Ignis smiled, and if he was aware of the way his ivory cheeks colored again, he paid it no heed.

Nor did he notice the calculated look in Noctis’s sharp eyes as the Dauphin filed away the expression for later perusal.

“I thought we might study Cruithne. It would serve you well to be able to discuss matters with the Cruarch without the necessity of translators,” Ignis explained.

“Good thinking,” Noctis offered the accolade casually.

Ignis noticed the Dauphin’s face seemed pinched, as if he were fighting the urge to grin, but the tutor chose not to question it. It was enough for Ignis that Noctis seemed to be actually paying attention to the matters at hand, rather than continuing the prying questions about his night at Balm. 

Making a mental note to try and arrange a fluent speaker to work with both Noctis and himself - only reasonable, and not at all a fabricated excuse to see Gladiolus again, it would be invaluable to their studies to learn from more than just books - Ignis set himself to their lessons with single-minded determination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Prompto's marque is completed. Ignis has an audience with the Queen.
> 
> As always, lovely readers, we thank you from the bottom of our hearts for continuing to support us. Please leave any comments you feel moved to share, or reach out to us on Tumblr. <3 <3 <3


	8. Will You See?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignis has an audience with the Queen and Prompto makes his marque.

Ignis afforded himself a small smile as a breeze picked up around him, bringing with it the commingled scents of the flowers in the Palace gardens. Some of the varieties he recognized, either from personal experience or from a chance encounter in one of the botanical texts he’s studied. Others were an entirely new experience to him, fresh and vibrant and beautiful, each blossom unique in its appeal.

When he thought of beautiful new experiences, his mind inevitably turned to Gladiolus. Truth be told, his thoughts had rarely _left_ Gladiolus since their shared time at Balm House. His smile broadened, curled at the edges like pink petals. After ensuring his relative solitude, Ignis brought a hand to his lips and delicately rested his fingers there.

If he concentrated hard enough, he swore he could still make out the sensation of Gladiolus’s lips upon his own, could recall the taste of him, utterly unique and intoxicating.

A bird took flight from a nearby bench, the sound of flapping wings loud enough to draw Ignis from his reverie. He chuckled, quiet and soft. Give him a clear spring day, remove the Dauphin from his tutelage, and here he was, aimlessly wandering about the gardens like a lovesick boy.

Ignis removed his hand from his lips to caress the thin spine of the book he held in the other. He’d resolved to heed Gladiolus’s advice and take some time for himself to relax, and what better way to do so than by reading the collection of poetry Gladiolus had lent him?

If he couldn’t visit the man himself, Ignis supposed this was the next best thing. On a whim, he brought the tome up to rest underneath his nose and inhaled deeply. Perhaps it was his imagination, but he thought he could smell the subtle fragrance of Gladiolus’s chambers soaked within its pages, mild beneath the more overpowering floral scent of the gardens at large.

Ignis spotted a nearby bench and took a seat, resolved not to make a fool of himself by his fascination with the Balm Adept. At least not in the public eye, anyway.

 _Gods_ , these D’Angelines. The last time that sentiment had crossed his mind, he was at his wits end with the Dauphin—with Noctis, he corrected. This time he breathed a wistful sigh. 

He was beginning to doubt that he’d ever be able to fully focus on his duties as tutor after his visit to Balm House. Ignis found himself distracted at the strangest times. An important historical date would disappear from his lips, erased by the memory of broad palms easing the tension from his body in gentle waves. A Caerdicci phrase would come out half in Caerdicci and half in Skaldic, his tongue tangled by the image of bronzed skin marked in woad.

Noctis had, thankfully, been taking his studies with more seriousness than he’d demonstrated since Ignis’s arrival. In addition to keeping a respectable amount of clothing on his body (most of the time), Noctis had been completing his assigned readings and participating in their discussions afterwards. True, there’d been one incident where he’d slept straight through their scheduled lesson time, and today he’d told Ignis not to bother since he had ‘far more important plans,’ but Ignis was grateful for any progress at all.

He pushed the Dauphin out of his mind for the moment lest he ruin his good cheer.

Ignis opened the slender book and began to read, his eyes immediately drawn to the beautiful words inscribed upon the careworn pages. This Delaunay truly had a gift for poetry, the descriptions and emotions painting themselves in Ignis’s mind, drawn forth by the skill of the poet. He relished each word like a caress, sometimes pausing to mouth a particularly well-written phrase, testing the feel of it upon his lips and tongue. Ignis sent up a silent prayer of thanks for his fluency in D’Angeline, without which he would have been deprived of the experience of Delaunay’s work.

He lost himself in his reading for a time, content to be transported to a place and time far from the Palace gardens of present day. In his typical fashion, he found himself oblivious to the world around him, as was wont to occur when Ignis became engrossed in a new and delightful text. Ignis thought perhaps books might be nearly as sacred to him as the worship of Naamah was to D’Angelines, the delight he found in new knowledge similar to the delight that D’Angelines found in more passionate pursuits.

Ignis’s pointer finger fell still upon the page as he turned that thought over in his mind. Perhaps he’d been unkind in his initial assessments of Terre d’Ange and their free attitudes towards intimacy. Perhaps he needed to do further exploration of the matter with additional firsthand research—research that of course must be conducted with one Gladiolus nó Balm. After all, his basis for comparison must stay the same in order to uphold the proper principles of research.

Ignis’s blissful, faint smile etiolated as he recalled that his time with Gladiolus had been a business transaction, a business transaction paid for by the royal coffers no less. While Ignis was certain that Noctis would be overcome with perverse glee to learn that Ignis had enjoyed the assignation—perhaps enjoyed it too much—he doubted he could count on the patronage of House Courcel for future visits to the Night Court.

Perhaps it was a foolish flight of fancy, but Ignis couldn’t help but cling to the idea that what had passed between he and Gladiolus had been _more_.

“Messire Scientia. What a pleasant surprise.”

Ignis tilted his head towards the unmistakable voice of Queen Aulea, who stood not scant paces away from Ignis, smiling at him kindly. Her Cassiline Brother—Brother Cor, Ignis recalled—trailed behind her like a lean, grey shadow. Ignis rose from the bench and sank into a deep bow, grateful that it hid the pink flush creeping up his neck and into his cheeks.

“Your Majesty. Please accept my most humble apologies that you had to announce your presence. I fear I was so consumed by my reading that I failed to notice your arrival,” Ignis said, gaze locked on the cobblestone pathways of the gardens.

“Nonsense, Messire Scientia. Please rise. If it wouldn’t prove too great an interruption of your plans for this afternoon, I’d love nothing more than to sit and converse with you for a while.”

“Of course, Your Majesty. I’m at your service,” Ignis replied. No matter how much he longed to return to his poetry, to the wonderful words of Delaunay, one did not simply turn down the Queen of Terre d’Ange when she requested an audience, however informal that audience may be.

Queen Aulea settled herself beside Ignis on the bench, the voluminous silks of her dress rustling as she arranged herself. Ignis took the opportunity to study her features more closely. She was possessed of the same ethereal refinement he’d come to expect from royal D’Angelines, but Ignis could find very little physical resemblance between her and the Dauphin with which he’d become—for better or for worse—so intimately acquainted.

“May I be so bold as to inquire about your reading?” Queen Aulea asked with the same gentle smile.

“A volume of poetry by one Anafiel Delaunay. It was lent to me by a...” Ignis’s words failed him for a moment, “By a recent acquaintance. I expressed to him an interest in D’Angeline literature and this was his recommendation.”

“Ah, yes. Quite a bold choice, but one important to House Courcel and Terre d’Ange as a whole. Your acquaintance is a man of good taste,” Queen Aulea replied.

While Ignis certainly knew what the Queen intended by her statement, his mind took the word ‘taste’ and conjured several delightful—and distracting—sensations about the taste of Gladiolus’s kisses.

“Yes. I do believe he is,” Ignis said diplomatically, sweeping the other idle fancies of his mind aside for a more appropriate time. “My acquaintance mentioned that this particular volume of poetry was once banned in Terre d’Ange, but he didn’t provide the reasoning. Perhaps you would be able to enlighten me, Your Majesty.”

When Queen Aulea _grinned_ at Ignis, he recognized it as more gentle echo of the sharp expression so expertly wielded by her son. “Perhaps you ought to ask him yourself when you return it. I suspect the conversation would prove most stimulating.”

Ah. Ignis filed away two new bits of new knowledge from those simple sentences: his fascination with the Balm Adept was more obvious than he anticipated, and the Dauphin came by his intuitive prowess regarding Ignis’s personal affairs honestly. “I suppose I will, Your Majesty, whenever that might be.”

Queen Aulea folded her hands in her lap, one overtop the other, the gems of several rings flashing in the spring sunlight. “I’m pleased to hear that you’re able to find time for your own personal experiences in Terre d’Ange. I realize all of this,” Queen Aulea motioned in an arc towards the gardens before returning her hand to her lap, “must be quite the change in culture for you.”

“Quite the change indeed, Your Highness, but that was one of the primary considerations when I decided to accept your most generous offer. The world is far too large and wonderful to constrain oneself to but a small portion of it.”

“The other consideration being the tutelage of my son, I take it?”

Though he wished it were otherwise, a sour feeling spiked in his gut at the Queen’s question. Ignis granted himself an indulgent moment to long for the simplicity of the perfect hours spent in Gladiolus’s company before turning to the reality at hand.

“Yes, Your Highness. I do believe we have a great deal to learn from one another,” Ignis said.

“Messire Scientia,” Queen Aulea began, a fraction of the strength it took to rule a nation imbued in his title, “you need not ply me with conciliatory half-truths regarding Noctis. Both the Prince-Consort and I are well aware of his proclivity for shirking his responsibilities… among other less desirable traits. I would hear an honest account of how his studies are proceeding.”

Ignis stalled for time by cleaning the lenses of his spectacles, his mind racing. He would give an honest account, but how to do so without complete defamation of the Dauphin in the process eluded Ignis. Ignis decided to focus on the more positive, very recent developments first.

“His Highness displays a remarkable aptitude for learning, particularly in regards to languages.” When he wasn’t sleeping through lessons or interrogating Ignis for details about his private life. “He’s also provided a considerable amount of cultural information about Terre d’Ange.” Ignis didn’t feel the need to specify that said cultural information was limited to the Night Court and the sexual customs of D’Angelines. “And he’s been most forthcoming in answering my questions regarding the nature of his magical abilities.” 

“Ignis… As thoughtful as it is that you’re willing to protect my son’s reputation and feelings, I’m hearing a lot left unsaid between the lines.”

Ignis sat up as straight as he could against the curved wood of the bench. He supposed there would be no two ways around the truth. The best he could hope for was to try and phrase it as delicately as possible.

“Well, Your Majesty…”

* * *

Noctis made his way through the Palace gardens with a spring in his step. The morning had brought a missive from Prompto that he’d been so badly waiting for; as soon as he’d seen the seal of House Eglantine on the letter, he’d told Ignis not to bother with lessons for the day, hoping that he’d be able to meet Prompto in the early afternoon.

Prompto _was_ available, but not until the evening. After sulking in the bath for what Noctis thought was a very reasonable amount of time considering his disappointment, he decided he ought to try and find Ignis to see about undertaking their lesson for the day.

After all, Noctis still had a point to prove.

The first point—Ignis’s denial of his attraction to men as a whole—Noctis already considered his. He’d written the Dowayne of Balm House to seek her advice on a suitable Adept for Ignis, noting his preference for men and his foreign nationality. The Dowayne had written back promptly to inform Noctis that she had the perfect Adept in mind, and negotiations had proceeded as usual from there. Noctis wished he knew the name of the Adept in question, but since he’d been negotiating an assignation on Ignis’s behalf, he was woefully deprived of the information.

As was his right, Ignis hadn’t confirmed that he’d gone with the Dowayne’s selection, but Noctis assumed as much given how _relaxed_ his tutor had been afterwards.

Noctis mouthed a prayer of thanks to Blessed Elua and Naamah both for his victory.

Despite living in the Palace all of his life, Noctis forgot how sprawling the gardens were as a whole. The sun climbed higher in the sky as he searched the winding pathways for his tutor. After what felt like half a lifetime to Noctis, he finally heard voices from the other side of a massive topiary in the shape of a swan.

“... recalcitrant student at the best of times.” There was no mistaking that clipped accent as belonging to Ignis. Something in Ignis’s tone gave Noctis pause.

“I expected as much. Has he at least been respecting your personal space?” There was no mistaking _that_ stern voice as belonging to his mother.

A flare of anger uncoiled in Noctis’s chest. Were his mother and his tutor casually discussing his shortcomings in broad daylight?

“We… perhaps began our student-teacher relationship on the wrong foot. His Highness does enjoy his jests at my expense, but I seem to have the situation under control,” Ignis replied.

 _The situation under control?_ What in Elua’s name was Ignis on about? What situation? 

His mother sighed loud enough to be heard over the rustling of foliage caused by a sudden burst of wind. “I realize the Prince-Consort and I ask a great deal of you, and we commend you for your patience and restraint. Noctis’s fondness for both the Night Court and casual dalliances are… well known, even to us. We should have expected this general course of events.”

Noctis couldn’t quite believe his ears. His mother was making him out to be… some sort of _lecher_. As though there were something wrong with paying homage to Naamah. A deep frown creased lines along his forehead.

“A warning would have been appreciated, Your Majesty, but I’ve dealt with troublesome students before. Now that I have more of an understanding regarding his behavior, I will adjust my tactics accordingly. It appears a more firm hand will be required.”

 _Firm hand?_ Hah! Noctis felt amusement trickle through his indignation. He’d _love_ to see Ignis attempt to use any sort of _firm_ hand on him, in any sense of the word. He didn’t have the backbone… or the stomach.

“I’ll remind you of my requirement for honesty before asking this question, as well as beg your forgiveness for a mother’s worry. Do you feel you and Noctis may one day come to understand one another? I know we hired you as his tutor, but it was our hope that you might also become his friend and confidant as well.”

Noctis’s heart beat several painful beats in quick succession. He shouldn’t care about Ignis’s response, already had his hips turned to make his way back to the Palace, but he held fast.

“Your Majesty, I… I hesitate to rule out any possibilities at this juncture. I beg your forgiveness in return, but I simply couldn’t say. I will do my duty to the utmost of my abilities, of that you can be certain, but insofar as His Highness and I becoming close? It seems unlikely.”

It was almost worse to hear Ignis couch his disdain in polite, diplomatic words. Noctis had tried to forget the barbs Ignis had hurled at him that night in the salon, but the hedging answer to his mother made it all resurface once more.

“I see,” his mother said, soft and thoughtful.

If she said aught else, Noctis didn’t hear it. He knew exactly where he wanted to be, and it was far away from the Palace.

* * *

One hurried carriage ride later, Noctis arrived in the district where the Violet Nightingale was located. He knew there’d be a lecture later because he forewent taking the Palace Guard with him, but the last thing Noctis wanted was to stride into a rather ordinary looking tavern with an entourage of guards. Notoriety was by far the most annoying part of being the Dauphin, and Noctis had no desire to make it worse by having a silver and blue wave take over the tavern.

Besides, he was more than capable of defending himself if it came down to it.

He did have the foresight to bring a cloak despite the balmy weather, plain black long enough to cover his expensive tunic and trousers. There was no hiding who he was entirely, but Noctis hoped it was early enough in the evening for the crowds to be thin.

One of his hopes was realized as he pushed open the door to the tavern. While there were still several patrons, the place wasn’t crammed to the rafters as Noctis had feared. Of the patrons present, however, one gorgeous blonde was conspicuously absent.

“Elua’s balls,” Noctis swore under his breath.

Noctis had all of a minute to debate if he’d stay or pass the time elsewhere before he saw a barrel-chested man waving to him from the back of the tavern. Noctis narrowed his eyes—it was rare for someone to wave to the Dauphin of Terre d’Ange as though they were old friends—but let his intrigue get the better of him. He followed the direction indicated by a muscular, woad-covered arm and made his way to the rear of the establishment.

When he approached the table, the man rose from his seat and sank into a deep bow, the gesture surprisingly elegant given the man’s size. “Your Highness.”

The title combined with the bow attracted the gazes of other patrons like flies to honey. Noctis waved an uncomfortable hand at the man. “Not today, I’m afraid. Please sit.”

The man obeyed, settling himself back on the bench where he’d initially been seated. Noctis took the seat opposite him and studied him more closely. He was handsome in a rugged sort of way, a manicured beard defining his jaw and his deep brown hair pulled back in a tail out of his face. Definitely not a full blooded D’Angeline, but at least part—the symmetry of his features, the smoothness of his skin were subtle hints towards that fact.

And, Noctis thought, the striking amber eyes, which he found trained on him in short order.

“Sorry about the formality. Couldn’t be sure if you wanted the bow and scrape or not. The name’s Gladiolus nó Balm.”

Naamah’s tits, Noctis thought, Gladiolus was _quite_ familiar. Luckily for him, familiar suited Noctis just fine this evening.

“I don’t believe I need an introduction,” Noctis replied with a sharp grin, a grin that Gladiolus returned in a slow, knowing manner.

“I agree with you there. Listen, I actually had a reason for calling you over. I heard you… well, the Palace, maybe… are responsible for helping a good friend complete his marque. Wanted to say thanks and buy you a drink, if you’re up for it.”

Noctis leaned forward, resting his chin on one curled fist. Aside from the Heliotrope assignation the day he met Prompto and the assignation with Prompto himself, he’d been largely absent from the Night Court. The thought was tinged with a brush of bitterness as he recalled _why_ —his fascination with Ignis had been rather distracting—but that was in the past now.

“You wouldn’t happen to be referring to Prompto, would you?” Noctis asked. “Prompto nó Eglantine, I suppose.”

“That would be him, yeah,” Gladiolus said. “So… how about that drink?”

“Please. Any sort of red would be amazing,” Noctis replied, his mood improved by the mere mention of the Eglantine adept.

Gladiolus caught the eye of one of the barmaids who hastened over to their table. Noctis looked up at the red-haired lass and gave her his best sensual smile, mostly just to see the pink flush flood her neck and cheeks.

“The usual for me and the house red for him,” Gladiolus rumbled. Noctis took a moment to enjoy the way Gladiolus’s accented words rolled around in his chest.

“Y-yes, of course,” she stammered, “I’ll be right back ‘round with those drinks.”

“You’re gonna make the poor girl faint,” Gladiolus said once she’d gone. “First the Dauphin comes in the Nightingale at all, then smiles at her like he’s going to eat her for dinner?”

Noctis gave a rueful smirk. “I think it’s less the smile and more the Dauphin part, truth be told.”

“If you say so,” Gladiolus said.

The barmaid delivered their drinks to their table. Gladiolus and Noctis shared a look before raising their glasses to one another and taking the first sip.

After a beat, Noctis remembered his manners and continued. “I hope I’m not posing too much of an inconvenience. Prompto asked me to meet him here at a later hour, but I couldn’t help but take a chance on seeing him sooner.”

“I’m sure he won’t mind. After all, he hasn’t stopped talking about you since he met you. Who could blame him, really?”

“Only fitting, since I can’t seem to stop thinking about him.” Noctis was used to flattery since it came with the political territory he navigated daily, but something about Gladiolus’s words made a subtle blush creep into his pale cheeks.

“Hey, Your Highness,” Gladiolus started, a serious note edging into his tone, “be careful with Prom, yeah? What happens between you two is between you both and Naamah, but Prompto’s one of the good ones. Consider this a polite request from a loyal subject to the Dauphin not to break his heart.”

Noctis frowned. “You’re right, it _is_ none of your business. But trust me when I say, Gladiolus, that breaking Prompto’s heart is the last thing on my mind.”

Gladiolus parted his lips and inhaled, clearly intending to reply, but the door to the tavern door slammed open and stopped whatever he was going to say. Noctis turned along with the rest of the patrons and grimaced when he saw who was standing in the entrance.

“Your _Highness_ ,” one very agitated Crowe Altius said, stalking towards the table where Noctis and Gladiolus sat.

“Uh oh,” Noctis murmured before plastering on a pleasant smile as she came to stand beside them. “Hello, Crowe.”

Crowe folded her arms across her heaving chest, a thunderous fury building in her dark brown eyes, strands of her hair plastered to her face. “How many times, _Your Highness_ , must we go through this game of cat and mouse before you stop making the Palace Guard chase you to Elua knows where?”

Noctis turned around and straddled his chair, resting his arms along the back of it. “How did you know where to find me?” he asked innocently. Gladiolus whistled from behind Noctis.

“By going through your correspondence, Your Highness. We’ve learned to use every trick at our disposal _since you do this so Gods damned much_ ,” Crowe said, the last words coming out in a hiss. Crowe’s eyes flicked to Gladiolus. “And who are you?”

“Gladiolus nó Balm,” the adept replied, “And it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Noctis couldn’t see his expression, but he imagined a sultry grin to accompany the heat that Gladiolus put into the words.

“Not interested,” Crowe said flatly, “Night Court’s too expensive for my tastes. And my salary, come to think of it, since I spend half my days chasing around an idiotic Dauphin.” The last bit was punctuated with a glare in Noctis’s direction.

“What a shame,” Gladiolus replied, sounding for all the world like he meant it.

“I’d ruin you for Naamah anyways,” Crowe shot back, turning her attention back to Noctis. “We are leaving in two minutes or less, unless you’d like the Prince-Consort and the Guard Captain to be informed of this misadventure.”

“Come on, Crowe,” Noctis said, jutting his lower lip out in what he knew to be an adorable pout, “I was waiting for someone. Can’t you give me a little longer?”

“I think the fine persons in this establishment have gotten enough entertainment for one day, _Your Highness_ ,” Crowe said.

True to her words, the attention of most of the tavern was trained on Crowe, Noctis, and Gladiolus. Noctis heaved a sigh and stood up from his chair, turning his head over his shoulder to regard Gladiolus.

“Nice to meet you, Gladiolus nó Balm. Maybe we’ll see each other again in the near future.”

“Likewise,” Gladiolus replied, not bothering to hide his grin.

Noctis tarried for a moment, hoping that by some miracle Prompto would choose this exact moment to walk through the tavern doors. He only began to move when Crowe conjured a curl of flame, waving it dangerously close to the fringe of Noctis’s cloak.

“ _Now_ , Your Highness, before I risk the gallows and burn you to a crisp myself. There’s a carriage waiting outside.” Crowe said.

“That’s treason,” Noctis spat, glowering at Crowe, but it got him moving all the same.

When Noctis opened the door to exit the Violet Nightingale, his heart soared when he saw a familiar presence just outside the entrance. Maybe Naamah had been listening after all.

“Your Highness?” Prompto said, looking between Noctis and Crowe with a bewildered expression. Gods, Noctis ached at the mere sight of those blue-violet eyes and freckled cheeks.

“Perfect timing, Prompto,” Noctis said, closing the space between them and placing a lingering kiss on the adept’s lips. “We were just heading back to the Palace. Come with me?”

Prompto’s gaze flicked to the door of the tavern once before regarding Noctis again.

“How could I say no?”

* * *

Having Prompto alone in his chambers at the Palace, Noctis decided, was almost more temptation than he could bear.

After the explanation of the days events, the carriage ride back to the Palace had felt interminable. Noctis longed for nothing more than to shower Prompto with tender kisses and soft caresses, but Crowe’s wrath was a palpable thing, burning hot enough to keep even the Dauphin of Terre d’Ange from his desire.

There was nothing keeping him from his desire now.

As much as Noctis longed to have Prompto spread out on the bed before him, preferably divested of every stitch of clothing, Noctis longed to court Prompto properly more. He’d settled on draping himself in his favourite armchair and extending a hand to Prompto. His pulse gave a single, erratic flutter when Prompto accepted his hand and settled onto Noctis’s lap, straddling him with a knee on either side of Noctis’s thighs.

“I’ve missed you so,” Noctis murmured, trailing open mouthed kisses along the pale length of Prompto’s neck. “I never knew how cruel it could be to wake up alone until I began to dream of you.”

“Your Highness,” Prompto said, breaking off with a quiet gasp as Noctis latched onto the juncture of shoulder and neck, sucking at the sensitive skin there, “ _Blessed Elua_ , I’ve missed you too. I’m so sorry I couldn’t see you sooner.”

“No need to apologize. You’re here now,” Noctis said, lapping at the hollow of Prompto’s throat. He was rewarded by Prompto threading his hands through Noctis’s unbound hair. Noctis made a pleased noise low in his throat as Prompto began to massage his scalp, creating delightful pressure with his fingertips.

“Your bedchamber is much nicer than your study,” Prompto said, and the mischievous note in his tone made Noctis draw back. Prompto’s lovely blue-violet eyes were glittering, their pupils a touch wide.

“I’m glad you think so. I can arrange a more thorough demonstration of its features, if you like,” Noctis said, unable to help the catlike grin that spread across his face, much like he couldn’t help his stirring length trapped beneath his trousers.

Prompto, hands still in Noctis’s hair, pulled him in for a kiss. His lips were as soft as Noctis remembered, his taste as sweet. They kissed again and again, sometimes a brush of lips, other times a deep exploration of one another. Noctis placed his hands along Prompto’s back and urged him closer, longing to feel more of Prompto’s body against his, but Prompto’s wince made him stop.

“Too much?” Noctis asked, brushing a lock of Prompto’s blonde hair out of his face.

“No, no, it’s not that, Your Highness,” Prompto said. A blush spread prettily upon those freckled cheeks and he and looked away from Noctis, his face tilted downwards. “I actually wanted to meet you to show you something.”

Noctis’s mind went back to his conversation with Gladiolus in the tavern, but he quickly decided he’d rather hear it from Prompto himself. “Oh? What is it you’d like to show me?”

“The portrait commission allowed me to finish my marque,” Prompto explained, turning his face back towards Noctis, violet and sapphire gazes locked on one another. “Will you see?”

Noctis’s heart stuttered in his chest. He was certain the coffers of House Courcel had helped many an adept make their marque, but none before Prompto had ever asked Noctis to see the completion.

“The Dowayne’s seen, then? You’re no longer indebted to House Eglantine?” Noctis asked, trailing his knuckles down the side of Prompto’s cheek in a tender sweep.

“Um…” Prompto hesitated, leaning towards Noctis’s touch, his eyelids fluttering closed, before answering, “No. I wanted you to be the first.”

Noctis exhaled, touched and full of wonder, struggling to breathe air back into his lungs.

“Then… yes. If you wish.”

Prompto gracefully withdrew from Noctis’s lap and stood in front of him, turning so that his back faced Noctis. Noctis reminded himself to keep breathing as he watched Prompto’s arms move, presumably undoing the buttons at the front of his deep green tunic. Once Prompto finished with the buttons, he pulled the silken fall of his blonde hair over his shoulder as not to obscure his back.

When Prompto let the tunic slide from his back and fall to the floor, Noctis couldn’t hold back a gasp. The green ivy and pink blossoms of the House Eglantine marque sprawled across the creamy, freckled planes of Prompto’s back, from the nape of his neck to the base of his spine. Noctis studied the rise and fall of Prompto’s chest along with the marque, fascinated as much by the adept as the lines of the Eglantine emblem.

“Is Your Highness pleased?”

“Noctis,” the Dauphin said breathlessly, without thinking, wanting to give Prompto a gift in exchange for the privilege bestowed upon him. “To you, I’m Noctis.”

“Okay… Are you pleased, Noctis?” Prompto asked, his voice wavering around the syllables of the Dauphin’s first name.

“The marque is well-limned,” Noctis said, stretching out one hand to brush his fingertips along the unmarqued skin of Prompto’s back, “It suits you. But it’s nowhere near as beautiful as you are, Prompto nó Eglantine.”

Noctis watched as Prompto faced him once more, drinking in the sight of Prompto’s naked torso with hungry eyes, the slightly defined muscles of his chest and belly intoxicating. “I’m glad that you’re pleased… Noctis.”

Noctis crooked a finger at Prompto, who took a few steps forward. Noctis began to kiss all over Prompto’s stomach, starting at the indent of his navel and working his way towards Prompto’s sternum. “What will you do now that you’re a free adept?” he asked between kisses, tracing lines from one errant freckle to the next with his tongue.

“I’m not sure,” Prompto replied, “But whatever I do, I hope it involves you, Your Highness.” Then, softer, “Noctis.”

Noctis sighed against Prompto’s taut abdomen, raising his hands to rest on Prompto’s slim waist. “In a month’s time I’m hosting a private fête here at the Palace. Will you come? You can even bring your friend if you like, the Balm adept from the tavern.”

Prompto hummed as Noctis lowered his mouth to the jut of Prompto’s hipbone and kissed it, pausing once to graze his teeth against the raised skin. “As an assignation or as a guest?”

“As a guest. Only if you want to,” Noctis said, hesitant, praying that Prompto would agree.

Prompto ran his hands through the liquid curtain of Noctis’s unbound midnight hair, beaming down at him with a beatific smile. “Yes, yes, absolutely yes.”

“Great,” Noctis replied, a palpable sense of relief rushing through his limbs. He leaned down to pick up Prompto’s shirt, handing it to him with his signature wicked grin, “In that case, would you mind putting this back on? I don’t know how much longer I can resist the sight of your gorgeous body.”

Noctis imagined that Prompto’s delighted laugh was accompanied by the gentle beating of far off wings. “Only if you promise to kiss me again once I put it back on.”

“I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, please accept our humble thanks for reading. <3 Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated and make great motivation fuel.
> 
> Up next week: Gladio and Ignis reflect on their recent assignation


	9. Naamah's Grace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gladio meets with Prompto and Ignis makes a friend.

Gladiolus sat on the edge of the great fountain in Elua’s Square, enjoying the warmth of the sunlight on his upturned face while he waited for his friend’s arrival. The nice thing about being a free adept was getting to set his own hours, and Gladiolus had taken the entire day off to do as he pleased. When Prompto had reached out asking for help with something, Gladiolus had agreed immediately, no questions asked. He didn’t even know what Prompto needed, but that didn’t matter.

When you had Gladiolus’s friendship, you had his unwavering loyalty.

It was one of those lovely spring days when the entire world seemed to be blossoming; the air was sweet with the fragrance of myriad flowers, people walked about their business languidly, smiles on most the faces Gladiolus could see.

Gladiolus’s thoughts went to Ignis, and their recent assignation. It had not gone how Gladiolus had expected - not at all. When the Dowayne had inquired if he’d take on the task set forth by the Dauphin, Gladiolus had to admit to being a bit dubious. If the tutor hadn’t even been the one to arrange for it, who could say if he’d be into it? He was an outlander, after all, and while Gladiolus certainly didn’t share the prejudices of pure-blood D’Angelines, he was worldly enough to recognize that Servants of Naamah held a pampered place in Terre d’Ange compared to the way prostitutes were treated in other lands, including Caerdicca Unitas.

When he first laid eyes on the rigid form of the advisor sitting there in the salon, Gladiolus’s heart had ached with longing. He was a Balm Adept, and Ignis was very obviously a man full of stress and inner pain; Gladiolus had wanted nothing more than to ease some of that burden, if only for a few hours.

From the moment Gladiolus approached and introduced himself, Ignis had gotten more and more wound-up, his body language clearly telegraphing an urgent desire to be anywhere but here.

But Gladiolus was glad he had stayed, because Elua knew, the man had needed a break. He hadn’t expected Ignis to respond as passionately as he did. When Ignis had finally given over to his desires, Gladiolus had been in awe of the wholehearted way the man threw himself into something so comparatively mundane as kissing.

He wondered if Ignis had begun to read the book of poetry yet. Gladiolus knew he’d taken a gamble there. Anafiel Delaunay’s work was equally as infamous for its sensual nature as its political undertones, but the entire book wasn’t scandalous - just a few of his later works. Hopefully the guarded Caerdicci man wouldn’t find those particular works too offensive.

Half-breed Gladiolus might be, but his heart was Naamah’s - he took Her service seriously. He was Elua’s Child, and took His precepts solemnly.

And he feared he might be falling in love with his patron. Even after only one night, a few hours of conversation and heady kisses, Gladiolus was feeling irrevocably changed by the encounter. He was D’Angeline, and no stranger to love. He loved his family and friends, and he loved all his patrons, at least a little - at least in that moment.

But this? It had been a week since that blessed night, and Gladiolus couldn’t stop thinking about verdant eyes and melodious foreign words.

On his way to the Square, Gladiolus had stopped by the Temple of Elua, making an offering of scarlet anemones and praying for guidance. He knew he must tread carefully here - for his own sake, as well as the Caerdicci scholar’s.

A relaxing day out with Prompto sounded like the just the thing to take Gladiolus’s mind off of such deep, enticing thoughts.

“Gladiolus!”

Amber eyes opened and alighted on the slim figure of Prompto nó Eglantine, who was waving energetically in his direction. Gladiolus could see his friend’s sunny grin from across the Square, and felt his heart lighten already. Yes. This was a great idea.

“Hey, Prompto,” Gladiolus greeted. “Everything okay? Your letter was kinda brief, what help do you need?”

“Oh! Sorry, big guy.” Prompto combed fingers through his artfully messy bangs. “I’m fine! Better than fine, I’m great!” he enthused, plopping down next to Gladiolus on the fountain’s edge.

“Spill,” Gladiolus said curtly, but not unkindly.

“Sooo, the Dauphin? I went with him from the Tavern the other day?”

“I remember,” Gladiolus’s voice was only a touch impatient, waiting for Prompto to get to the point.

“He invited me to a fancy dinner at the Palace in a few weeks and I have nothing to wear!” the last words shot up a half-octave in a melodramatic wail.

Gladiolus laughed. “That’s it? You need help _shopping_?”

“Don’t laugh! We aren’t all noblemen who have a closet full of attire suitable for a royal engagement!”

“No, you’re right; I’m sorry,” Gladiolus said. “I’d be happy to help, Prompto. I don’t get much occasion to play dress up, but I know the best place to go for this: Atelier Favrielle.”

Prompto smacked a hand to his forehead with a groan. “I should have thought of that. Elua’s balls, it was founded by one of the most famous adepts of my own house.”

Gladiolus smiled knowingly. “I suspect you’re a little distracted.” The way Prompto flushed was utterly endearing, and confirmed Gladiolus’s suspicion. “You really like him, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Prompto said shyly. “And I think he likes me, too.”

Hopping down from the fountain, Gladiolus offered Prompto a hand. “Let’s go.”

As they began to walk down the boulevard, Gladio asked, “Tell me more about this dinner? Did the Prince contract you as an adept, or invite you as a guest?”

“A guest!” Prompto’s voice was a blend of joy and disbelief. “That’s why I need proper clothes! I can’t just show up in my Eglantine livery.” He laughed self-deprecatingly. “Is there a book I can read about royal manners? I’m just a Namarrese orphan boy turned adept, I have no idea how to act around royalty - besides Noctis.” His flush darkened. “I mean, the Dauphin.”

“I’ll give you a run-down later, okay?” Gladiolus reached out to squeeze Prompto’s shoulder in reassurance. “You’ll be fine. You were taught formal manners as part of your training at Eglantine, yeah? Go with those, mostly.”

Prompto nodded wide-eyed, but didn’t respond further. That was just as well, since they’d arrived at the tailor’s shop, though to call this palace of fashion a mere tailor’s shop was almost insulting. The structure was the largest in the district, and as finely decorated as any noble manor. The color scheme was largely shades of green with accents of gold in homage to the founder’s education, but beyond that one wouldn’t think of Eglantine or adepts when they entered this place.

Examples of workmanship were displayed cunningly on mannequins in the sprawling salon, elaborate gowns and the finest tunics, costumes designed for previous Longest Nights. You didn’t come to Atelier Favrielle for casual day-wear, no - not unless you needed exceedingly fine garb for your day to day lifestyle.

You came here for quality, artistry, and fashionable decadence.

“Messire, my lord, good day,” a kind-faced woman in her middle age glided over to the pair of adepts, and Gladiolus was only momentarily surprised that she accurately pegged him as a nobleman, despite his exceedingly simple clothing. To be fair, there weren’t many Cruithne half-breeds walking around the City of Elua.

“How can we be of service?”

“My friend will be attending a royal banquet,” Gladio explained. “He needs suitable clothing.”

The woman turned to Prompto, eyes narrowing as she scrutinized him from head to toe. “And you are...?”

“Prompto nó Eglantine, free adept in Her service,” Prompto said with a sweeping bow, rising with a dramatic flourish trained into him over the course of the years in his house.

“Well met, Messire nó Eglantine - may I call you Prompto?” At the blonde’s nod, she continued. “Come, let me take your measurements and we can discuss what might suit.”

“Can my friend come too?” Prompto blurted out nervously, darting wide violet eyes towards Gladiolus.

“Of course,” she agreed.

“Gladiolus de Trevalion nó Balm,” Gladiolus offered her a hand, which she bypassed in favor of the kiss of greeting. Her lips were sweet and soft against his, and Gladiolus’s eyes shone with appreciation for her boldness. “Call me Gladiolus.”

“Simone Bernard,” she replied, before giving Prompto similar greeting, causing the young man to blush even more brightly at the attention. “Come, come, both of you!” She began to lead them to her private work room, chatting in a friendly manner as they walked. “This may take a while, so please do speak up if you require aught. Such an important commission cannot be rushed.”

“I get that,” Prompto said. “I’m something of an artist myself.”

“‘Something of an artist’,” Gladio mocked gently. “He’s a genius.”

“And what manner of art do you create, Prompto?” Simone directed him to stand on a wooden block, and walked to her worktable to get a tape measure.

“Portraits are my specialty, but I draw anything that catches my eye,” Prompto elaborated.

“How nice,” Simone said. “Now, you two may talk among yourselves, but let me work, please.”

Gladiolus sat cross-legged on the floor nearby and leaned back, propping himself up with his palms, tipping his head back so he could meet Prompto’s eyes.

“Gladiolus,” Prompto’s voice was light and teasing. “We’ve talked about me, let’s talk about you.”

“Not much to say,” he mumbled, inwardly cursing the color he felt rise on sun-bronzed cheeks.

“Oooooh, I see that blush!” Prompto crowed triumphantly. “Spill!”

Gladiolus gave him a flat look. “There’s such a thing as adept/patron confidentiality, you know.”

“So leave out names!”

Laughing, Gladiolus shook his head. “I suppose that would be good enough.” He truly did wish to talk to someone about that magical night, and who better than his best friend?

“I had a patron about a week ago that I can’t get out of my head,” Gladiolus admitted quietly.

“Why?” Prompto asked curiously, head tilting to one side in a birdlike manner made more endearing by the messy strands of golden hair sticking out every which way, refusing to be tamed into laying flat against his shoulders.

“Well, he was handsome, and well-spoken, but that’s not exactly hard to find in the City,” Gladiolus spoke, thinking out loud. “I think it was his vulnerability, and the way he opened up. He really needed to unwind. Badly.”

Tawny eyes unfocused, thinking back to those ephemeral hours, lips curving in a tender smile. “I lent him a book.”

Prompto gasped, but his teasing demeanor was gone. “You actually gave someone - a random patron - one of your books?”

“Well, it’s not like I’ll never see him again,” Gladiolus muttered. “I know where to find him if he doesn’t give it back.”

“Which book?” Trust Prompto to ask the right questions, damn him.

“Delaunay’s poetry.”

Prompto’s response was a low, drawn-out whistle. “You’ve got it bad, my friend.”

Gladiolus laughed, and deflected. “Not as bad as you, getting all gussied up for a fancy dinner with the Prince.”

“Oh Gods,” Prompto whined. “I’m so nervous!”

The rest of the measurements were endured as Gladiolus explained court customs. He could see Prompto’s relief when it came out that Gladiolus hadn’t been exaggerating - with the formal manners trained into all adepts, Prompto was pretty well prepared. A few small differences in behavior since he was attending as guest and not hired entertainment, and Prompto would be golden.

When Simone and Prompto discussed colors and dithered over fabric choices, Gladiolus let his mind wander a bit. Prompto was beautiful, Gladiolus had never denied it. He hadn’t really looked at his friend _that way_ , because, well, he was his friend, and for most of their friendship, his time had not truly been his own.

But now it was, and Gladiolus was only human. He admired the animated, passionate way Prompto argued about the cut and color of his commission, enjoying the confidence that imbued the younger man’s voice now that they were speaking of art - if a different sort than Prompto himself created.

After a couple hours which made Gladiolus grateful he never went anywhere without a book, Prompto had signed a contract and scheduled his first fitting.

“Where to now?” Gladiolus asked as they left the shop.

“Drinks?” Prompto suggested.

“Sure,” Gladio agreed easily, slinging a massive woad-marked arm around Prompto’s slender shoulders.

Prompto leaned close as they walked, and Gladiolus felt a renewed stirring of interest.

Clearly, he wasn’t the only one feeling Naamah’s grace, for Prompto spoke up with unexpected words. “Gladiolus, why haven’t we ever...?” words trailed off into a hand wave, accompanied by another charming blush.

“You’re my friend, Prompto - and until recently, you were trying to make your marque.” Gladio shrugged, the movement brushing his body closer to Prompto’s. “Honestly, I didn’t think you were interested.”

“Well,” Prompto’s voice was tinged with hesitance, but that faded into surety as he continued to speak. “I’ve always wondered about it, you know?” He grinned up at Gladiolus. “Maybe, before anything else gets too serious…”

Gladiolus’s answering grin was broad and anticipatory. “We never _did_ celebrate making your marque properly.”

No more words were needed as they walked the rest of the way to the Violet Nightingale, Gladiolus’s arm warm around his friend, Prompto’s body sweetly pressed to his side.

“Oh! There’s something else,” Prompto exclaimed.

“Yeah?”

“Um… I was supposed to ask you something,” Prompto said. “But I forget what!”

“Oh, Prompto,” Gladio chuckled. “You’re hopeless.”

“Hopelessly in love!”

With another shared grin, they entered the tavern.

* * *

This time, Ignis chose to read in his study. While he’d found his conversation with Her Majesty to be quite enjoyable, as well as educational, today he wished to ensure he had the solitude to enjoy the book Gladiolus had lent him properly.

Opening to the place he had marked with a scrap of parchment, Ignis’s lips softened into a smile as tension drained from his shoulders. It was a subconscious response he was hardly aware of, his body associating this tome with the Balm Adept, and the adept himself with luxurious relaxation.

The Gods only knew Ignis could use it. The past few days, the Dauphin had been mercurial at best. Short, but not outright rude, in their study sessions - truth be told, it was almost more alarming than the Prince’s typically inappropriate behavior. This unfailingly polite but succinct Noctis was bewildering to Ignis. He wondered if he had misstepped somehow, but realized there was precious little he could do to rectify the situation before he truly knew what was bothering His Highness.

No. Ignis would not spend his scant free hours ruminating over the ever changing moods of the temperamental Prince. He’d much rather spend them thinking about Gladiolus, and reading the graciously loaned book.

Lust - for Ignis recognized it for what it truly was - and discomfort warred deep in Ignis’s core. He couldn’t deny here, in his innermost thoughts, that he found the half-Cruithne man incredibly compelling, intensely attractive. Ignis was resolved to see him again, as soon as he could sort out his tangled emotions regarding their assignation.

While Ignis may not share a belief in the D’Angelines’ pantheon, he couldn’t deny that he had left Balm House more refreshed than he’d felt in years.

And more confused.

It was a strange contradiction, Ignis mused. How could one man be so soothing, yet so unsettling? So arousing, yet so disconcerting?

Ignis was aware the D’Angelines were far freer with their affections than he was raised to be, even in a proper union of man and woman. He felt he was at a crossroads that could change the course of his entire life with one decision. Ignis had to snort at how seriously he was taking this - perhaps Noctis and his obsession with matters of the bedchamber had rubbed off on the advisor more than he had realized. Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes, he brought forth the image of a forest path, leading to a fork.

One was pristine and sparse, well-maintained and safe: He could fall back on his upbringing, return Gladiolus’s book via courier, and focus on the reason he was in the City of Elua - his work.

The other was full of riotous flowers, unkempt and wild, with doves on the wing and sunlight dappling through the canopy of leaves: He could give in to his desires, follow his heart, and see just where these interactions with Gladiolus could lead him.

With a longing sigh, Ignis decided to cast off such considerations for now, and read the book that lay forgotten in his lap.

He began the next poem and felt his cheeks heat almost from the first stanza.

_O, dear my lord…_

This was a love poem, written from one man to another - the annotations in the footnotes indicated it was in fact dedicated to the Dauphin Rolande de la Courcel, struck down cruelly before his time in the Battle of Three Princes.

He continued to read, though Ignis found himself taking frequent pauses as his memories of that decadent night at Balm mingled with the sweet words of Delaunay’s poem.

_Your chest pressed to mine_

Goodness, that embrace; the strength in Gladiolus’s arms a delicious counterpoint to the infinite gentleness of his lips.

_To be pierced ecstatic by the shaft of victory;_  
Sweet the pain of losing,  
Sweeter this second struggle… 

Ignis replaced the bookmark and set the tome aside, willing his heart to slow, his breathing to resume normalcy.

He’d been in Terre d’Ange long enough now not to be scandalized by the fact that one of their most famous poets wrote so brazenly of intimate liaisons.

But not so long that part of him wasn’t quailing at the idea of indulging in such things himself, even with such a man as Gladiolus. ‘Sweet the pain of losing,’ Delaunay had written, and a growing part of Ignis was convinced that it would be wondrous indeed to give in to his longing, to the desires he had suppressed nearly his entire life.

To take Gladiolus as he had taken willing women in Tiberium.

To give himself to Gladiolus more completely than he’d ever given himself to anyone.

But, would Gladiolus even want him? Ignis harshly reminded himself that their night together had been dictated by a contract, funded by the Prince’s ducats. A business transaction, negotiated and paid for - not a chance encounter, a serendipitous meeting of like minds.

If Ignis were to approach Gladiolus, man to man, rather than patron to adept… would those molten amber eyes still be so warm? Would those lips still be so ardent and eager against his own?

A thrill shivered along Ignis’s spine as he thought back to the way their mouths had fused, the way those powerful arms had cradled him so protectively. Ignis had held no doubts in that moment that he was safe, he was wanted.

Would it be the same outside the ritualized strictures of an assignation?

Verdant eyes fluttered shut as the blood pounded in his veins, traveling distressingly southward. Ignis felt his phallus swell beneath the confines of his trousers and made an irritated sound. Regardless of his feelings, this was neither the time nor the place. He engaged in breathing exercises until his unwelcome erection dissipated.

Ignis left the book on his desk, realizing his mind was far too scattered to focus on any more reading today. Perhaps a trip to the training yard would be in order; Ignis could usually find a willing sparring partner between Libertus and Luche.

* * *

Gladiolus spent the following morning at the Royal Palace with his father.

Clarus Trevalion was a serious man, as equally dedicated to his duty to Crown and country as he was to his children. While he may have been initially disappointed that Gladiolus had opted for a far different vocation than his own, Clarus had been unfailingly supportive as Gladiolus had risen in the ranks and earned his marque, and Gladiolus felt blessed to have such a wonderful father.

Iris was off visiting with some friends, so the Trevalion men enjoyed a comparatively quiet breakfast in Clarus’s private salon, dismissing the servants and enjoying the break from the constant influx of people that came with residing in the Palace, or the Night Court.

“You’re still happy living at Balm?” Clarus asked considerately between mouthfuls. “You know you only have to ask and you can move back into the family townhouse. Or I could help you obtain a property to set up your own salon.”

“Nah,” Gladiolus demurred. “I like living at the House.” He smiled to take the edge of his words. “Our house is so empty, with you living at the Palace, and Iris in Alba half the year. It’s nice to have people around.”

Clarus nodded his understanding as he finished his repast. “I am sorry duty keeps me from seeing you more often, Gladiolus.”

“You do the best you can. Better than most.”

A rare smile canted the older man’s lips. “You’re kind to say so.”

“How’s Iris doing with her lessons?”

Clarus heaved the long-suffering sigh of a teenager’s parent. “When she can sit still long enough to apply herself, she does quite well.” A sadness darkened his eyes briefly. “She’s so like her mother. Iris isn’t meant for the royal court - she belongs with her Alban kin.”

Gladiolus frowned, setting his flatware aside. “Iris likes it here too, Father. It’s just hard for her, I think, to go from the freedom of Alba to the courtesies expected of a noblewoman. But she has you, she has friends, she has joy in Terre d’Ange.”

“I wish she could stay here permanently,” Clarus admitted. “But that would be like clipping the wings of a falcon, and I’d never be so cruel as to take away your sister’s freedom to soar.”

Gladiolus wished he could break up the somber mood somehow. Inspiration struck, and he regaled his father with the tale of Prompto’s trip to the clothier, and his growing infatuation with the Dauphin.

“That explains the smiles young Noctis has been wearing,” Clarus mused. “But not the frowns.”

“Prince Charmless arguing with his parents again?” Gladiolus wondered.

“Not that I know of. This is more melancholy than rebellious.”

Gladiolus shrugged broad shoulders. It was hardly his business what was up with the royal family, but he did hope that Noctis’s moods weren’t too taxing on his tutor.

The Trevalion men chatted on inconsequential things, passing the morning companionably until Clarus’s duty called him away.

“Come see me again soon, son,” Clarus said gruffly, pulling Gladiolus into a hug.

Gladiolus returned the hug firmly. “I will.”

They exited Clarus’s chambers and their paths diverged. Gladiolus began winding his way towards one of the side entrances of the palace, used by the court and their family, not in the mood for the crowds and guards that would be at the front gates.

As Gladiolus made his way down the hallway, he spotted the figure of the Dauphin lazily reclining against a wall, seeming lost in thought. Gladiolus had to smile, assuming Noctis was as caught up in the growing infatuation as Prompto, and hoping his friend was the reason for the Prince’s soft smile.

Noctis pushed away from the wall and started towards Gladiolus when he noticed the large man’s presence, his expression becoming catlike and knowing. “Gladiolus. What brings you to the Palace this morning?” He leaned in, rosebud lips pressing against Gladiolus’s in the kiss of greeting, lingering perhaps a shade longer than socially acceptable. “Naamah’s business?”

Gladiolus had to laugh. “My father lives here, remember? Sometimes even we adepts have lives outside of our service.”

“Hmm. I hope so,” Noctis muttered cryptically. “Speaking of such, you’re coming to my fête, yes?”

A frown marred Gladiolus’s rugged features. “What fête?”

“Elua’s balls,” Noctis shook his head. “Prompto was supposed to invite you.” He grinned again. “I suppose I can send you an official invitation.”

Ah. So that was what Prompto had forgotten. “No need, Highness,” Gladio grinned. “I’ll get the details from Prompto next time I see him.”

“Hmm,” Noctis made an agreeable sound, twilight eyes skimming slowly from Gladiolus’s woad-marked shoulders to his booted feet.

A smirk quirked Gladiolus’s full lips. “See somethin’ you like?”

Noctis’s answering smirk was rife with sensuality. “So many things.”

“Well,” Gladiolus rumbled, leaning into the Dauphin’s personal space, looming over the shorter man and staring down at him as he spoke. “You know where to find me if you want to… experience them… first hand.” He closed the remaining distance between them and brought his lips to Noctis’s in a firm kiss, drawing back after the space of several heartbeats to offer another broad grin. “Farewell, Highness.”

As Gladiolus continued on his way, he had an added spring in his step. Prompto wasn’t wrong; the Dauphin was a good kisser.

Gladiolus wondered what else the Prince was good at.

Those delicious thoughts carried him all the way back to Balm House, where he set to preparing for his evening’s work.

* * *

Ignis was grateful he’d spent so much time sparring with the guard. It gained him entry to their gatehouse, enabling him to approach Crowe Altius.

He’d been wishing to speak with the woman since Noctis let slip that it was she who helped train Noctis in his arcane pursuits. Ignis hardly had the time to go study at the Academy of Occult Philosophy, but perhaps Crowe would be willing to work with him a bit, presuming he had the slightest talent for such things.

“Lady Altius,” Ignis greeted, offering a polite bow.

The woman snorted, waving a hand in dismissal. “I’m no lady, messire.” Dark eyes regarded him curiously. “If you’re looking for _His Highness_ , I have no idea where’s he’s gotten off to this time, and I’m not on duty, so quite honestly, I don’t care.”

Ignis adjusted his spectacles on the bridge of his nose in an effort to hide his grin. “Actually, I’d quite prefer to avoid the Dauphin for a while.”

Crowe laughed. “Fair enough. What brings you to the guardhouse?”

“I was hoping you’d be willing to speak with me about magic. Perhaps show me a thing or two.”

Brows lowered seriously over those gleaming bistre eyes. “You do understand magic isn’t exactly popular here, right? And you’ve already got points against you by being a foreigner. You sure you want to add dabbling with such ‘uncouth things’ as magic to the list of ammunition for the court to wield against you?”

“May I be frank?”

“I’d prefer it.”

“I’m quite tired of being told how to conduct myself,” Ignis’s accent sharpened his words with displeasure, clipped and cold. “I know full well I am not D’Angeline, and I resent being expected to conduct myself as if I were, or the implication that I am in any way lesser for not being born one.”

Crowe nodded. “I can see that. I’m not exactly the image of a noblewoman, but people got over it eventually.”

Ignis felt himself relax at her easy acceptance, and he seated himself in the chair across from hers, crossing his legs comfortably. “You seem noble enough to me,” he offered.

Her laugh was sudden and infectious, causing Ignis’s lips to twitch into a smile even without knowing what prompted her mirth.

“Let’s just say my parents were none too pleased that I opted to join the Palace Guard instead of marrying to further our small house’s ambition,” Crowe’s voice held the afterimage of bitterness primarily laid to rest. “We may talk to the talk - _‘love as thou wilt’_ \- but in practice?” She shook her head. “It’s not always that simple.”

Ignis’s brow furrowed in concern. “They truly wished to wed you to someone you didn’t willingly choose?”

Crowe’s smirk was somehow both rueful and lecherous. “Well, any _man_ they chose wouldn’t be to my taste.”

Ignis was momentarily confused, then flushed as he realized the import of her words. “Ah. I see. You prefer… yes, well.” He removed his glasses, pulling a small cloth from his pocket and cleaning them thoroughly.

Even without his spectacles in place, Ignis could see the expressive roll of Crowe’s eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I’m sure such things aren’t spoken about in polite company where you come from.” Her grin flashed again, wide and unrepentant. “We’ve established I’m _not_ polite company, and if it bothers you that I prefer women, you can fuck right off.”

Ignis took a gamble, motivated by a desperate need to have someone - _anyone_ \- to confide in. “I… hardly have room to judge.” His words were halting, and he looked anywhere but at the woman sitting across from him.

“Really?” Crowe’s tone held surprise, and oddly enough, admiration. “Pretty brave of you to admit something that so obviously bothers you to a relative stranger.”

“Yes, well…” Words failed Ignis, so he contented himself with uncrossing and recrossing his legs, studying the weapons hanging on the walls of the gatehouse.

“Perhaps Elua had a hand in your assignment here,” Crowe’s words were gentle, and to Ignis’s surprise, she reached out and wrapped one calloused hand around his with a squeeze. “Noble parents’ aspirations aside, Ignis - you really can love who you wish, here. No one’s going to judge you.”

“No one save myself,” his words were rank with self-loathing. “It’s… hard going against everything I was brought up to believe.”

“I can only imagine. But it also has to be a relief.”

Ignis was astounded at how well Crowe seemed to understand his quandary, but perhaps that was born of her own struggles between the demands of a debutante and the desires of her heart. “It is.”

Crowe’s tone turned teasing now, her grin matching in good humor. “Enough serious talk. Who caught your eye? There has to be someone, or you wouldn’t be all knotted up over this.”

Ignis eyed her in consideration, unsure how much to reveal.

She held up both hands placatingly. “It won’t leave this room. You just really seem to need to talk. And I’d like to get to know you better before deciding if I want to try and teach you.”

“That’s fair, though I’d assume you’d wish to know more of my education than my personal life.”

Crowe shook her head, expression turning serious. “Magic is not far removed from emotion. I need to learn about you, Ignis - _you_ as a man, not you as a scholar. I have no doubt that you’d apply yourself and understand the theory. But do you have the inner passion to burn?” A small flame danced over the fingers of the hand not holding his. “The empathy to heal?” A warm light surrounded their clasped hands, and Ignis felt the stiffness in his neck fade.

“Tell me about Ignis, the man. I swear to Elua, I won’t break your confidence.”

“All right,” Ignis said after a long, silent moment. “His Highness purchased me an assignation at Balm House. He felt I needed to… relax. It was there that I met Gladiolus.” Porcelain cheeks were flooded with color as the melodious syllables were shaped with tenderness.

“Lovely name,” Crowe commented, when Ignis fell quiet again.

“For a lovely man,” Ignis murmured softly.

“Did you..?” She waggled her brows expressively.

“No,” Ignis shook his head in negation. “We spoke of books.”

“Books.” Her tone was flat with disbelief. “You went to the Night Court, and spent the night chatting about literature?”

“Well, not the _whole_ night,” Ignis’s tone was beginning to thaw from his natural reserve the more he spoke. “I indulged myself as much as I felt prudent. And Gladiolus didn’t push, for which I am grateful.”

“I can’t say with honesty that no D’Angeline would ever push where unwelcome, but an adept certainly wouldn’t make that mistake,” Crowe offered.

Ignis elaborated as much as he was comfortable with, speaking of the time shared with Gladiolus with as equal candor as his attempts at romance back in Caerdicca Unitas. He spoke of his drive for knowledge, his years of tuition at the famed University, his thirst for more that lead him to cross a continent to continue his education.

At length, Crowe held up a hand, and Ignis stopped talking at once, feeling a bit sheepish as he considered how he’d blathered on. “I’m happy to listen if you want to say more. But I’ve heard enough to decide that I will take you on a student.”

Ignis’s smile was blinding, and when Crowe returned it he was overjoyed with the realization that he’d made his first true friend in Terre d’Ange.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! <3 Comments and kudos are always appreciated, and you can always feel free to find us on Tumblr (links below).
> 
> Next week: Prompto and Gladio celebrate the completion of Prompto's marque.


	10. How Best to Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto celebrates making his marque with Gladiolus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating updated to Explicit.

“Remind me why don’t we spend more time at Balm House? Seriously, I always forget how nice your rooms are until I’m in them again,” Prompto asked with a smile, poking Gladiolus in the ribs to punctuate his question.

Now that he was a free Adept, Prompto thought he might like to gussy up his own chambers a bit. Maybe he’d try and take on some extra assignations or commissions—either would work—and save up for his own private atelier separate from House Eglantine. That would be exciting. Atelier Prompto.

“I don’t know, maybe because I like having some kind of life outside the House. Send me to the gallows for it if you want,” Gladiolus replied. 

"You’re too handsome for the gallows. The whole City’d go into mourning,” Prompto chirped back, tipping his face back to receive the kiss of greeting from Gladiolus.

“No need for flattery, Prompto,” Gladiolus said, close enough to Prompto’s face that he could feel Gladiolus’s lips move against his. Once their mouths were joined, Prompto hesitated before parting his own and lightly pressing his tongue against Gladiolus’s lips, seeking to deepen the kiss. A gentle warmth filtered through Prompto’s limbs as Gladiolus responded in kind, their tongues meeting in a far more thorough kiss than that of greeting. Prompto tasted the lingering tang and spice of apple cider before he pulled away, looking up at Gladiolus with a few slow blinks.

Prompto was an Adept and no stranger to Naamah’s arts, but _Elua_ , the way Gladiolus kissed sent his pulse straight into a gallop.

“You were serious the other day, then?” Gladiolus asked, reaching down and brushing a thumb across Prompto’s cheek. “About how you wanted to celebrate making your marque?”

“Yeah. I mean, only if you want to, obviously,” Prompto said. He rested his hand against one of Gladiolus’s muscular, woad-covered arms. “If you don’t, House Eglantine’s putting on a pretty big play tonight. I could get us in, no sweat.”

“And here I was hoping you hadn’t changed your mind,” Gladiolus said with a grin. “I’ll admit to a... professional curiosity about my protegé.”

Prompto swatted Gladiolus’s arm at that and gave a little laugh. “What, afraid I’m not living up to the title?”

“The opposite, actually.”

“Now who’s being a flatterer?”

“I can’t help it. Comes with the title and the fancy parties from the de Trevalion side. Guess even Naamah couldn’t chase the obsequious from me,” Gladiolus said.

Prompto shivered as Gladiolus ran broad palms down his sides, stopping when they came to rest around his hips. He reached one of his own hands up—a hand still stained with oils, Prompto noted with a wince—and urged Gladiolus into another kiss, giving into the bright desire that flowed through him like liquid gold.

Two kisses in and Prompto was discovering just how Gladiolus had made such a name for himself as an Adept. There was a fierce gentleness to his kisses, much like he had about his person in general, his tongue insistent but never demanding, taking only as much as Prompto offered. He stood on his tiptoes by the end of their embrace, clinging to Gladiolus with one arm around his neck and one hand on his muscular chest with fingers splayed.

 _Elua_ , Prompto had always known Gladiolus to radiate heat; he’d taken advantage of that fact often enough the winter past, cozying up to him at the Nightingale or draped across his lap in front of a fireplace as they read and sketched. But the heat Prompto felt under his hand now was different, warmer, a burning flame encased in skin.

“Bath first?” Gladiolus asked in a low rumble, pointing with his chin towards the inlaid tub in the corner of his rooms, his hands still on Prompto’s hips.

The prospect of a hot bath was enough to make Prompto release his grip on Gladiolus, already shucking his tunic off over his head. “Oh man, yes! By the time I get a bath drawn at Eglantine, the water’s like, lukewarm at best.”

“You know what they say. Early Adept catches the bath.”

“No one says that,” Prompto said, shooting a grin over his shoulder as he shimmied out of the supple leather trousers he chose for the day. The modest fire and steaming bath leant a pleasant warmth to the air, preventing Prompto’s skin from prickling into gooseflesh like it otherwise might.

“Hey, Prompto, hold a moment.” There was an odd note in Gladiolus’s voice. If Prompto didn’t know better, he’d say there was a slight tremor to it, but Gladiolus wasn’t the _tremoring_ type.

“Yeah?”

“I…” Gladiolus crossed his arms over his chest, his head slightly tilted, “ _Naamah’s tits_ , warn a guy before you start stripping down. If you pulled this move with the Dauphin, no wonder he’s infatuated.”

“Pretty sure I’ve described how I met Noct… the Dauphin a thousand times by now.” Prompto could feel the hot prickle of a flush slinking up his skin all the way from collarbone to neck. As he lowered one foot into the recessed tub, testing its depth, he let out a sigh at the way the hot water lapped at his calves.

“A thousand and one, but who’s counting?”

“You are, clearly,” Prompto said with a bright laugh. He sank into the tub once he’d had a chance to acclimate to its soothing heat, tilting his head back and groaning as the warmth began to ease the tension from his limbs. His eyes drifted closed of their own accord. “I let some of the other adepts talk me into joining them for tumbling practice, and I’m gonna be the first to say, this bath feels _amazing_. This is celebration enough.”

“You sure about that?”

There was a sultry, silken undertone to Gladiolus’s question that Prompto would have had to be deaf to miss. He opened his eyes to the sight of Gladiolus’s naked body displayed in all of its chiseled, muscular glory. Prompto swallowed as he let his gaze trail downwards, following the swirling, crisp lines of woad tattoos that covered his chest and arms. As Prompto would expect of an accomplished Night Court adept, he made no effort to conceal any part of his nudity, including the stirring length resting heavily against one strong thigh.

“On second thought, the original plan works,” Prompto squeaked, feeling his own body start to respond beneath the surface of the bathwater.

Gladiolus approached the large, square tub and squatted down by the edge. Prompto tried not to notice the way his spread legs exposed his arousal in an intimate flash, worrying at his lower lip with his teeth. Gladiolus laughed, a familiar bass noise with a new note to it.

“Mind if I join you?” Gladiolus asked, gesturing with one hand to the tub locking his burnished amber eyes to Prompto’s violet ones.

“Sure thing,” Prompto breathed, his heart twitching in his chest.

The water level rose to Prompto’s neck as Gladiolus maneuvered himself into the tub, his limbs unfolding gracefully in spite of his size. Prompto heard him make a pleased noise in the back of his throat as adjusted to the water, tendrils of his rich brown hair plastered to his sculpted chest.

“You okay, Prom? You look a little like it’s your first Showing,” Gladiolus asked, reaching out across the bath and resting a hand on Prompto’s shoulder.

“Yeah, I’m good, I’m totally good.” The warmth of the bath had begun to soak out his aches and pains, a lovely floral scent ensconced the room, and his stunningly handsome best friend was sat across from him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

‘Good’ might have been an understatement, but Prompto certainly had no complaints.

Gladiolus shifted in the bath, which sent a gentle slosh of liquid to tickle Prompto’s chin. “I ain’t a Balm Adept for nothing—I can practically feel your tension from this side of the tub.”

Prompto couldn’t hide his tiny grimace. “It’s not like, a bad thing. I just, I dunno… it’s a little weird to have you treat me like a patron?”

Gladiolus laughed, the sound rich and deep, and as it faded it took some of Prompto’s anxiety with it. “I can pull out all the stops if you want… you’re worth it, after all. Or I can pull out none of them.” He removed his hand from Prompto’s shoulder and spread his arms out just above the water line. “You could start by coming a little closer and seein’ how you feel.”

At the sight of Gladiolus’s open arms, the rest of Prompto’s unease faded as though washed away in the ablutions of the bath. He propelled himself forward and settled himself against Gladiolus, back to chest, sighing as Gladiolus wrapped his arms around Prompto’s waist. His own willowy frame slotted nicely into Gladiolus’s larger build. He leaned his head to one side and tipped his face back, smiling up at his friend.

“I can’t _see_ it, but I can certainly tell how _you_ feel,” Prompto said, tone light, scooting his hips forward just enough to cause their lengths to brush against one another under the water’s surface.

“Can you blame me?” Gladiolus asked, dipping his head and pressing a chaste kiss to the shell of Prompto’s ear. “You’re gorgeous, Prompto nó Eglantine, but more importantly, I care about you.”

“I kinda like the sound of that. Could you say it again? My name, I mean,” Prompto asked with a grin. He took Gladiolus’s hands in his and urged them down his body, relishing the way the fragrant bath oils lent a silkiness to the slide of Gladiolus’s palms on his chest.

“Prompto nó Eglantine,” Gladiolus rumbled, his lips resting against Prompto’s neck. When his hands came to rest on the tops of Prompto’s thighs, he murmured a few words in what must have been Cruithne, but Prompto didn’t recognize any of them. “You sure you don’t want a massage? You’ve never said no before.”

“Gladio—” Prompto started. The rest of Gladiolus’s name unraveled as he began to knead Prompto’s thighs, slow and firm, applying delightful pressure with his thumbs. Between the comfort of Gladiolus’s presence, the warmth of the bath, and the sensation of Gladiolus’s hands plying his skin, he was fully hard under the water’s surface.

“Touch me, please.”

“Don’t they teach you to be patient about the _arousement_ anymore?” Gladiolus asked. Contrary to the teasing nature of his words, his palms followed the inward curve of Prompto’s thighs before he gently curled one hand around Prompto’s cock. 

“Thought we weren’t being adepts tonight.”

Gladiolus’s response was to laugh, low and deep, and begin to work Prompto’s length with slow, thorough strokes.

Prompto gasped, his hips bucking up of their own accord towards Gladiolus’s hand, the motion buoyed by the bathwater. There wasn’t any fancy artistry to the touch; Prompto knew from his own studies the hundred ways in which he could be touched, but it heated his blood all the same. The fact that it was Gladiolus who wanted him—that it was his friend and mentor caressing Prompto with his hands and lips alike—sent a giddy thrill along his spine. He felt Gladiolus’s chest heave against his back as he laughed again, gripping Prompto’s hip with his unoccupied hand and pulling him back close.

“You’re so sensitive. Patrons must get a kick out of that,” Gladiolus said. He buried his lips in Prompto’s hair, placing a few idle kisses there.

“It’s one of my— _oh_ , _Elua_ —” Prompto’s breath caught as Gladiolus’s grip on his cock changed from full strokes to teasing explorations with the pads of his fingers, “one of my many charms. Gotta make my reputation somehow, right?” Prompto could feel Gladiolus’s own arousal against his inner thigh, each little shift of movement causing it to brush the delicate skin there.

“You ain’t wrong,” Gladiolus agreed. “Fuck, If I had my way, I’d make you come just like this, all relaxed and pliant in my arms.” He stopped his more reserved touches took Prompto’s cock fully in hand again. 

The depth of his voice and the increased friction sent a burst of pleasure through Prompto, his skin prickling into gooseflesh. He spread his legs open wider on either side of Gladiolus’s thighs, his toes curling against the stone bottom of the bath as Gladiolus ran a thumb in circles around the head of his cock.

“Ew, don’t. You’ll make the bathwater all gross,” Prompto said after a breathy laugh.

“We could run another bath.”

“We _could_. It’d be contributing to the _horrible_ stereotype that D’Angelines live in the bath, though,” Prompto offered.

“I can think of worse things.”

“I can think of _better_ ,” Prompto quipped. As reluctant as he was to do so, he reached under the surface of the water and gently removed Gladio’s hand from his length. A few slippery, twisting moments later, he managed to position himself so that he faced towards Gladiolus instead of away. After nudging the small of Gladiolus’s back with his feet, he leaned forward and allowed Prompto room to wrap his legs around Gladiolus’s sturdy waist. Scooting forward, he held fast to Gladiolus with one arm and explored below the water’s surface with the other, searching for an angle that would allow him to hold their cocks together.

“So that’s how you wanna play this?” Gladiolus asked, reaching down to guide Prompto’s hand to his length. 

“For now,” Prompto said with a beatific smile. He shuddered as he rolled his hips forward, desire flourishing at the pressure of their cocks moving against one another. Gladiolus was longer and thicker than him, though not outrageously so, which provided a delightful surface to grind against.

“Sounds good to me,” Gladiolus said, tangling one wet hand in Prompto’s hair, “and doesn’t feel half bad, either.”

“Well, I guess I need to step my game up. Can’t disgrace Naamah in one of her Houses, after all.”

Prompto drew Gladiolus’s mouth to his and captured it in a searing kiss, a whine escaping him as Gladiolus parted his lips and allowed Prompto to explore the soft heat of his mouth. Gladiolus’s manicured beard provided a delicious abrasion to the skin around Prompto’s chin and lips—among all his patrons, he couldn’t remember one who had facial hair—and he archived the sensation for later review.

 _Naamah, Elua, all his Companions,_ why hadn’t he asked to do this sooner? There was no denying that he loved Gladiolus dearly as a friend, and he poured that love into their kiss, into the rocking of his hips, into the press of his chest against Gladiolus’s, and into the helpless gasp that issued forth when they broke apart.

“ _Prompto,_ ” Gladiolus said, bending his head to rest his forehead to Prompto’s, a string a Cruithne issuing forth from him and punctuated with a grunt. “Naamah, I hope you ain’t this impatient with your patrons.”

“Nope. Just with you,” Prompto said.

They kissed again, each joining of their lips stoking the flame of his desire higher. Prompto wasn’t close to finding his release, not yet, but each time he thrust his hips up towards his waiting hand and against Gladiolus’s cock, he was brought a little closer. The bathwater ebbed and flowed with their motions, their bodies and lips entwined in a delightful tangle of mutual need. This, Prompto thought, this too was part of Naamah’s worship, a reminder to himself that _love as thou wilt_ meant being honest with himself about what he loved and how best to love it. He felt it in the way Gladiolus’s grip tightened in his hair, in the way his thighs clenched around Gladiolus’s waist, in the way they dove into each kiss as though it were both first and last.

Gladiolus pulled away from Prompto’s mouth and planted lingering kisses along his jaw. Prompto’s heart missed a beat when Gladiolus paused and moaned against the curve of his neck. “Prompto, I got no problem staying like this ‘cause we got all night, but you’re doing a fine job at pushing us towards taking a break whether you want to or not.”

“I take it you’re past feeling ‘half bad’ and moving on to ‘very good,’” Prompto laughed, the sound turning a touch tremulous as Gladiolus began to move his own hand up and down their lengths under the water.

“Tell me what you want and it’s yours,” Gladiolus said.

Prompto forgot how to breathe—if Elua Himself had taken mortal form and commanded him to inhale, he didn’t think he could. Most of Prompto’s life up until that moment had been about what he could do for others: for his patrons, for the Dowayne, and most importantly, for Naamah. Sure, he’d begun to carve out his own niche with his art, and there were the unsaid promises between he and Noctis that had yet to be realized, but Prompto _served_.

It had been Gladiolus who first insisted that Prompto was worth _more,_ and Gladiolus who offered his friendship without a second thought. To hear him speak those words so openly and honestly, so laced with pure desire… it made Prompto’s heart soar.

“Would you take me? I’d love to feel you inside me,” Prompto murmured, still clinging to Gladiolus and hoping not to feel the tell tale signs of a blush beneath his imperfectly perfect cheeks. 

“Done and done,” Gladiolus said.

The world lurched. Water sloshed as Gladiolus cupped Prompto’s backside and rose from the bath; Prompto could feel his muscles flexing beneath that gorgeous tanned skin as he was lifted from the tub. Once they were safely out of the recessed pool, Prompto framed Gladiolus’s neck with his hands and brought him down for another kiss, this one long and languid and punctuated by the quiet sounds of water droplets hitting the floor.

“Gonna set you down now, okay?”

“‘Kay.”

Gladiolus glided his hands up to Prompto’s waist to support him as Prompto relaxed the grip of his legs around Gladiolus’s hips and directed his feet to the floor. Between the two of them, they managed to make the process elegant instead of ungainly. Though they were of two different Houses and two different builds, they were still adepts and possessed of all the grace that title conferred.

Prompto accepted the fluffy towel that Gladiolus offered without comment and made a token effort at drying off. If his eyes were glued to Gladiolus’s sculpted body covered with tiny beads of water, and if his attention was drawn to the exquisite cock hanging hard and heavy between his thighs—and to the novel patch of dark curls that encompassed it—he felt no shame in it. He extended a hand forward as Gladiolus rubbed his towel quickly across his limbs.

“May I… ?” Prompto asked, fingertips hovering a span away from the swollen tip of Gladiolus’s cock. He wanted it inside him with a deep longing that surprised him, but he wanted to touch it, too.

“Like I’m gonna say no to that,” Gladiolus said with a laugh.

Prompto ran his fingers tentatively along Gladiolus’s shaft, tracing out one prominent vein. He watched a glistening pearl form at the tip of Gladiolus’s cock as gave it a few soft passes with his palm, then ran his hand along its underside. The hair that covered it was far more coarse than the downy, sparse nature of Prompto’s own. Prompto’s arousal ached as he let his fingers meander upwards, following the deep brown trail all the way to Gladiolus’s navel, his lips parted slightly as he explored.

“When you’re ready, lay back on the bed for me,” Gladiolus said. Prompto looked up to see mirth glittering in his eyes, the rich amber edged out by wide pupils.

As much as he was enjoying Gladiolus’s uncomplicated confidence, he let his hand fall and made his way to the bed, leaving his towel abandoned on the floor. Once he was on the bed, he shifted to his side and watched as Gladiolus considered a neat shelf of vials beside the bed, admiring the bold lines of the marque spanning across Gladiolus’s back. Prompto’s hand drifted to his cock and he gave himself a few strokes as he regarded his friend.

“Do all of those do something different?” Prompto asked, curiosity getting the better of him even when presented with Gladiolus’s sublime rear.

“Mostly, yeah,” Gladiolus replied, taking one stoppered container from the shelf and crossing over to the bed.

The mattress dipped as Gladiolus climbed up beside Prompto and gave him a warm smile. Prompto rolled to lay on his back, arching up off the bed as Gladiolus ran his broad palms along the sides of his body. “Want me to get you ready?”

“Please,” Prompto said, drawing his lower lip between his teeth and worrying at it as he watched Gladiolus. He pulled his knees up towards his chest as Gladiolus settled beside him, his presence warm and comforting.

“Don’t get shy on me now,” Gladiolus teased. Prompto couldn’t see from where he lay on the bed, but he heard the quiet _pop_ of a vial being uncorked. 

“I’m not getting shy, I’m getting—” Prompto said, his words faltering as he felt one slick finger press against his entrance.

“Fucked, soon.”

“Gladiolus!” The exclamation was as much from the shock of the swear as the feel of a finger sliding all the way inside him.

Gladiolus was as gentle and thorough as Prompto would expect of any Balm Adept as he worked him open. His length twitched as he imagined how full he would feel once it was Gladiolus’s cock instead of his fingers inside him. Prompto glided a hand down his own chest and stomach before wrapping it around his length, fully hard once more. 

“Kiss me?” Prompto said, soft with the barest hint of question.

“‘Course,” Gladiolus agreed.

The desire that had sparked in the bath roared back to life as they kissed. Gladiolus teased at Prompto’s lips with a swipe of tongue, laughing when Prompto crushed their mouths together afterward, yielding to Gladiolus as Gladiolus had yielded to him before. He couldn’t stop a moan as he felt himself stretch further, Gladiolus’s fingers thrusting in and out of him in an imitation of what was to come. He could feel the hot, silken length of Gladiolus against his thigh as they continued to kiss, each one more breathless than the last.

“Say, Prom…” Gladiolus said as they separated, “How flexible are you?”

Prompto gasped as he felt another finger push inside him, the sensation of pleasant fullness overwhelming. When they found the sweet spot inside him and pressed into it over and over in quick succession, he moaned loud and long, his aching cock dripping precome onto his belly. Blood roared in his ears. 

“Oh, _Elua—_ I dunno, p-pretty flexible, I guess.”

“Can you get your ankles near your head?”

Prompto swallowed hard and let his hand fall away from his cock. “Yeah.” Another thrust of fingers against the sensitive spot made him fist his hand in the soft green coverlet of Gladiolus’s bed. When they were withdrawn, a whine built in the back of Prompto’s throat at the sudden emptiness.

“Show me?” Gladiolus asked, his amber eyes dark with Naamah’s influence.

A haze had descended on Prompto, a combination of the need to be joined with Gladiolus and the need to please him. He sat up slightly and grabbed one foot, easing his leg up and back in a smooth, careful motion until his foot was hooked behind his head. Prompto repeated the action for the other leg and allowed himself to roll back on the bed, feeling the stretch in his hips and his inner thighs as he laid himself bare to Gladiolus.

“Sweet fucking Elua.” Gladiolus’s words were accompanied by a long stroke between Prompto’s legs, his palm running from the head of Prompto’s cock to the cleft between his cheeks. “Here, lemme adjust you a bit…”

Prompto inhaled sharply as Gladiolus settled his weight over his body. The position meant he didn’t have as much leverage as he otherwise might, but he still tried to roll his hips upward as he felt Gladiolus’s cock slide against his ass, slippery with the same oil from previously. Gladiolus laughed and unhooked Prompto’s feet from behind his head, keeping hold of one ankle. He moaned when he felt the thick head of Gladiolus’s cock rubbing back and forth against his entrance, not quite pressing in just yet.

“You okay?” Gladiolus asked, voice thick with desire.

“More than. Take me, please, I want you to have me,” Prompto said, the words spilling from his lips before he thought to stop them.

Gladiolus entered him so slowly that Prompto vaguely thought it could be considered torture. He appreciated Gladiolus’s care all the same as he was filled, inch by inch, head tipped back and panting. When his pelvis was flush with Prompto’s, he stilled, allowing him time to adjust to the sensation. Gladiolus grabbed Prompto’s other ankle and pressed him down into the bed, bringing his forehead to rest against Prompto’s.

“Naamah, I could get used to hearing that,” Gladiolus growled, his breath hitching.

“Take me,” Prompto whispered again for the sheer joy of Gladiolus’s response, head spinning and body full.

Though they were both adepts and skilled in Naamah’s arts, not every joining was meant to be a beautiful dance. There was something deeper between he and Gladiolus, a primal urge shifted and stretched within Prompto as Gladiolus began to move his hips, driving him down into the mattress with every thrust. He was full, almost unbearably full, full of Gladiolus and of love and of the joy that Naamah’s worship brought.

A wash of pleasure swept through Prompto each time Gladiolus entered him. The pressure of Gladiolus’s hands gripping his back grounded him where he otherwise might have lost himself entirely. He captured Gladiolus’s lips in a series of kisses, more brushes of tongues and grazing of teeth than proper kisses but satisfying all the same. With no patron to impress, Prompto simply did what felt right; he heard himself moaning and murmuring Gladiolus’s name when their kissing paused, felt the slick slide of his cock against Gladiolus’s stomach, wove his fingers through the silky, damp tresses that formed a curtain around their faces.

Prompto inhaled sharply as Gladiolus sheathed his entire length inside and did… _some_ kind of rotation of his hips that had him clawing at any part of Gladiolus’s sweat-sleek body that he could reach. It was difficult to move his hips while pinned to the bed, but he bucked them all the same, whimpering and desperate for friction.

“You’re perfect, Prom. Never forget it,” Gladiolus rumbled. He sounded short of breath to Prompto as he peppered his cheeks and neck with light kissing.

“No… you… oh, _Gladiolus,_ ” Prompto began, losing his train of thought as Gladiolus began to move again, driving into Prompto with more intensity than before.

The simmering heat inside Prompto built along with Gladiolus’s speed, burning him in a way that only passion could. Gods, he’d never been taken this way, folded in the strong, safe arms of someone he cared deeply about. A few tears lingered in his eyes at the thought, spilling over as he closed them and drew Gladiolus into another kiss. 

“You okay?” Gladiolus asked raggedly as he slowed, his heart thundering so hard that Prompto could feel it against his skin where their chests met. 

“Yes,” Prompto whispered, drawing out the ‘s’ in a quiet hiss as his pleasure spiked, then added, “ _don’t stop._ ”

It seemed to be enough to satisfy Gladiolus. Their bodies came together over and over again until Prompto couldn’t keep the searing heat from overwhelming him. He only had time to let out a broken cry as he surrendered to his body, his vision going white and cock pulsing as he found his release. Prompto trembled in Gladiolus’s embrace as he coasted the wave of pleasure, panting as he clung to the broad shoulders above him.

With several solid thrusts, Gladiolus groaned and rasped out a string of Cruithne, following Prompto’s climax with his own. Prompto watched as bliss softened Gladiolus’s features, grateful for the chance to see his face as he came; he lived for the moment where his patrons—and friends—experienced those precious instants of blinding, brilliant joy.

Prompto parted his lips to speak but decided against it. He chose instead to cup Gladiolus’s face in his hands and kiss him, an act that described his feelings better than words ever could. 

* * *

“I’m glad it took us this long,” Prompto said.

After disentangling themselves and cleaning up, Prompto found himself back in bed with Gladiolus. He laid on his side, still naked and draped along Gladiolus’s back. His legs were entwined with Gladiolus’s as he ran a hand idly along his chest and side. They’d pulled up the coverlet to ward off the chill as the re-lit fire did its work in heating the room.

“Why’s that?”

“I dunno… I like the idea of our first time being as equals.”

Gladiolus scoffed. He pulled away from Prompto and turned to face him, making eye contact as he spoke. “Prompto, you’ve always been my equal in every way that matters. Never forget it. Never let that Dauphin of yours forget it, either, and send him my way if he does.” He leaned in and pressed a kiss on Prompto’s forehead, making his heart flutter.

“Is your pillow talk always treasonous? Also, he’s not _my_ Dauphin,” Prompto said with a laugh.

“Only with you,” Gladiolus replied, stealing another kiss. “And he will be. Just you wait.”

“Well, until then…” Prompto said with a grin, trailing a hand down Gladiolus’s stomach, “I can think of a few other ways to spend the rest of the night.”

“Huh,” Gladiolus commented, reaching a hand between his legs and idly working his half-hard cock, “What sorts of things did you have in mind?”

“Oh, you know, the usual,” Prompto began, planting a line of kisses down Gladiolus’s chest, “My mouth. Your cock. Nothing too exciting.”

Gladiolus’s heated laugh was part desire, part promise, and all joy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Comments and kudos are always appreciated. <3
> 
> To keep everyone in the loop, we wanted to let you know that while we still _very_ much love this story, this world, and these boys, updates will be slower moving forward. Other projects and real life commitments are taking up precious fic writing time. Stay subscribed and/or bookmarked to make sure you know when updates happen.
> 
> Please feel free to come chat with us on Tumblr if you feel so inclined, and thanks again for reading!


	11. To Return a Book

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignis pays another visit to Balm House while Noctis tags along.

“You seem distracted.” Simple words, purred in such a multifaceted tone Ignis fancied he could write an entire book on the varied meanings he was inferring. And that didn’t begin to encompass the rather puzzling facial expression Noctis wore. He somehow managed to look simultaneously amused, curious, and aloof.

These D’Angelines.

It was a welcome change, however, from the coldness Ignis had endured from his student for the past week. He still wasn’t certain what had happened to elicit the extreme change in attitude - Noctis had gone seemingly overnight from happy-go-lucky and insouciant to icy but dedicated. On the one hand, Ignis welcomed the assiduousness with which the Prince applied himself to his studies; on the other hand he found himself yearning to see that sly, catlike grin once more.

The Dauphin’s rosebud lips were quirked in the barest hint of that smile now, and Ignis chose not to examine why it warmed his heart. Instead, he opted to deflect Noctis’s question. “I’m not distracted. Now, turn to page 56 and we’ll talk about—”

“No, you’re definitely distracted,” Noctis interrupted, barely-restrained laughter coloring his incredulous tone. “We went over that section an hour ago.”

Ignis sighed and closed his book. The Prince wasn’t wrong. Ignis was having more and more trouble focusing on his daily tasks with each passing sunrise since his magical night with Gladiolus. He’d read the book of poetry a dozen times. He’d mentally reviewed every moment of their time together, trying to parse together what was _real_ and what was the service rendered by a Servant of Naamah.

He thought that Gladiolus’s warmth might be genuine. But Ignis also knew in this he was beyond his depth. For all he knew, everything that had passed between them - the idle discourse, the loan of a treasured book, the life-altering embrace - was typical of an encounter at the Night Court.

However, sitting across his desk with far brighter eyes than Ignis had seen in days, was the closest thing to an expert on the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers that Ignis had access to. While it might tarnish his pride a bit to bring up the topic, he’d be foolish not to avail himself of a ready resource.

Ignis cleared his throat as he removed his spectacles, cleaning the already pristine lenses as he endeavored to get his words in order. “Perhaps you can be of assistance, Highness.”

“Noctis,” the Dauphin corrected absently, those sapphire eyes narrowing as he honed his gaze to Ignis. “How so?”

Best just to be out with it, then. “I need to return the book I was lent during my assignation, but I’m not familiar with the customs of the Night Court and have no wish to offend any by my ignorance.”

Noctis’s laugh chimed brilliantly in the otherwise quiet study. “Is that all? Elua’s Balls, man, there’s no protocol for returning a book. Either send it by courier, or take it and drop it off yourself.” Those cerulean eyes glinted. “From how much thought you’re putting into this, I assume you’d prefer the latter.”

“Indeed.” Ignis kept his features carefully schooled in an attitude of detached politeness.

“Well, unless you wanted another assignation, you can just go there. No need to stand on ceremony.” Noctis’s quicksilver grin was edged in the once-familiar lasciviousness now. “And if you _do_ want another assignation, this one’s on your ducat.”

“No, not an assignation,” Ignis said hastily. “Just… to return the book.”

“You’re too distracted to continue today’s lesson. No time like the present!” Noctis chirped as he rose from his chair. “Though, perhaps a bath first?”

“I bathed this morning.” Ignis had quickly learned how fastidious the D’Angelines were with their personal ablutions. He didn’t mind, but he drew the line at bathing mere hours after he’d already done so, especially as he hadn’t engaged in any activities in which he worked up a sweat.

His chiseled, porcelain features flushed scarlet as he considered that perhaps he’d require another bath after meeting with Gladiolus.

Ignis stood, hoping to forestall any further commentary from the Dauphin on his apparent inability to maintain his stoic facade over what was supposed to be merely returning a borrowed book. He decided to go with manners and formality, two things that served as well here as in Tiberium. Sketching a bow, he murmured, “By your leave, Highness?”

Noctis sighed and waved him to stand straight. “Noc-tis,” his liege said slowly, emphasizing the way the syllables flowed together by elongating the word.

“Noctis,” Ignis said, and when he saw the genuine smile that lit up Noctis’s face he couldn’t help but smile back.

In short order, Ignis was walking out the Palace gates. He nodded to Crowe, not recognizing the other guard on duty. It was a temperate day - surely as they grew closer to summer it would grow hotter, but for today, Ignis was perfectly comfortable outdoors in his normal clothing. He took his time walking across the City, realizing he truly hadn’t taken full advantage of the free hours he was granted to enjoy really anything the City of Elua had to offer. Even when not engaged in his work or his own studies, Ignis tended to stay within the Palace, either taking refuge in one of the libraries or perhaps listening to a performance in the salon dedicated to music. He’d strolled the Hall of Portraits nearly every day, but that was no comparison to the fresh air and sunlight he was drinking in today.

Ignis was momentarily embarrassed to realize he’d neglected to break his fast when his stomach rumbled; here it was approaching high noon and he’d nary a thing to eat. All he’d carried with him was Gladiolus’s book. Well, perhaps he could find something on the way back. He had a few coins in his pouch, and the day was far too nice to simply go back to cooping himself up inside the Royal Palace.

Despite his rambling path, Ignis found himself at the foot of Mont Nuit as the sun tipped past its zenith. He paused a moment, gazing up the heights, keen eyes able to pick out each of the Houses in turn from his reading. But today, Ignis was single-minded in his focus, looking past the splendor of Dahlia and the darkness of Mandrake, the mysteriousness of Gentian and the joyfulness of Orchis.

His verdant gaze was locked on Balm. Ignis thought of their House credo - Rest and Be Soothed. Well, he wasn’t feeling very restful or soothed at the moment. His heart thundered in his chest almost painfully even as his stomach clenched with nerves.

But, after today, one way or another - he’d _know_.

And, as the author of the book he was returning was famously lauded for saying, ‘All knowledge is worth having.’ Ignis knew the proverb was Siovalese and ancient in origin, but after spending so many nights reading over Delaunay’s poetry, he felt a strange sense of kinship with the man.

He started to climb the steps leading up the hill, though when he reached Balm House, he faltered. Should he knock? Let himself in and speak to a servant in the lounge just past the entry, where he’d awaited his assignation?

The decision was made for him when the door swung open. A dark-haired young woman crashed headlong into Ignis. He reached out to steady her out of habit. “Are you all right?”

“Oh Elua!” She exclaimed, raising a hand to her heart. “I’m so sorry! Brother is always telling me to slow down, but it’s such a lovely day, I was impatient to get back outside!” The girl’s eyes were full of mischief, and somehow familiar, though Ignis couldn’t recall having met her before.

“It is a nice day,” he said agreeably. “But perhaps refrain from running down the stairs?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” She laughed and took off before Ignis could say another word.

He flinched as he saw the rapid pace she took on her descent, brown hair flying behind her like a tail streaming in the breeze of her passing. Once he saw she’d made it to the bottom of the stairs without breaking her neck, Ignis let himself in through the door she’d left hanging open. He walked haltingly beyond the foyer into the familiar reception room.

“Hello…?” he called out, not seeing anyone present. With a shrug, he chose a seat and made himself as comfortable as he could while he waited, crossing his legs and resting the book in his lap.

But this was the Night Court, and no potential patron was kept waiting long. In a moment, a servant gracefully glided over, a welcoming smile wreathing her ivory features. “Well met, messire. How might Balm serve?”

“I’m here to see one of the adepts, a man named Gladiolus. Is he available?”

“Would messire like to contract Gladiolus’s services?”

Ignis felt himself flush despite his best efforts. “No, that won’t be necessary. I simply wish to talk to him.”

“One moment, messire.”

Ignis watched her walk away, feeling a bit vexed. Damn his fair complexion and the way it highlighted his every change in mood. For all his practice at schooling his face to stillness, and keeping his emotions from shining in his eyes, he had no way to control the way he flushed so easily when embarrassed or angry.

Or aroused.

That thought only made his blush darken, and of course it was like this, with his face burning crimson clear to the tips of his ears, that Gladiolus found him.

“Ignis,” Gladiolus said, surprise evident in his deep voice. “What brings you to Balm House?”

Ignis stood, praying to the gods of his homeland as well as the local deities that his legs wouldn’t shake with the nerves threatening to overtake him. “I’ve come to return your book.” He was pleased at the steady cadence he managed with the short words, and even more so when he felt the flush begin to recede.

“Ah, yeah. Thanks.” Gladiolus smiled, and Ignis felt his heart stutter in his chest.

Ignis passed him the book, and inwardly cursed the way his fingers trembled when they brushed against Gladiolus’s. _Gods_ , the way the heat radiated off the man. It was intoxicating.

“I don’t have any patrons this afternoon,” Gladiolus said. “If you’re not in a hurry, you can peruse my library again.” A rakish grin lit up those honey-brown eyes. “I saw the way you were lookin’ over my shelves last time. Figured you’d like to read more than just the one book.”

“Ah, y-yes,” Ignis stammered, managing what he hoped was an appropriately polite smile in return. “That’s very generous. My thanks.”

“C’mon.” Gladiolus beckoned as he turned and began walking from the salon. Ignis followed him, grateful when the Adept began to make small talk as it enabled him to respond without much thought, keeping his mind focused on the task of figuring out just how to approach the conversation he so desperately wished to have with the other man.

* * *

Noctis waited about ten minutes once his tutor left the study before making haste to his own quarters. He hurriedly changed from the tunic slashed brazenly in Courcel blue into something more understated - well, by his standards at least - and then made his way down the Palace hallways until he emerged from a small servant’s entrance into the brilliant sunlight. Peering down the boulevard, he spied his advisor strolling along. Ignis appeared very serious for someone who was clearly so besotted with an Adept that he was willing to overcome his discomfort with the Night Court to hand-deliver the borrowed book.

Well, Noctis wasn’t always sleeping during his lessons. He’d learned a thing or two about stealth and tactics. Sure, Ignis had been the last thing on his mind lately. Okay, that was false, though the lovely Prompto had taken presence most of the time. Noctis had _tried_ to make Ignis be the last thing on this mind, but he just couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d overheard in the gardens that day when Ignis spoke with Noctis’s mother:

_“Your Majesty, I… I hesitate to rule out any possibilities at this juncture. I beg your forgiveness in return, but I simply couldn’t say. I will do my duty to the utmost of my abilities, of that you can be certain, but insofar as His Highness and I becoming close? It seems unlikely.”_

Those words had stuck with Noctis as if sewn into his skin; he was unable to shake the melancholy that had overtaken him hearing Ignis parse their relationship down so coldly, so perfunctorily. He spent several days so wroth that he hardly bothered with attending lessons, and when he did, it was with a petulant temper. But then during another in a chain of sleepless nights, Noctis had an epiphany.

Perhaps the reason Ignis discounted a true friendship between them had less to do with the man’s foreign attitudes and more to do with Noctis’s rather debauched behavior.

Ignis hadn’t asked for Noctis to be the caricature of a pampered D’Angeline lordling. Despite the heat that suffused the Caerdicci’s retorts, Noctis realized it might not be subconscious flirtation so much as simple, genuine anger.

And so Noctis had decided to try and behave as a Dauphin should, attending and applying himself to his lessons, keeping back all but a few of his choice remarks, and endeavoring to behave as a proper friend should. Unfortunately, his personal overtures hadn’t borne any fruit, but Ignis did seem very pleased at Noctis’s sudden scholastic bent, and Elua knew his parents were thrilled to see Noctis actually paying attention at the Parliament.

Ignis’s apparent fascination with the as-yet nameless Balm Adept Noctis had contracted for his ‘relaxation’ had Noctis warring within himself. On the one hand, the new and improved Noctis offered the help Ignis needed for his questions, and hoped that his advisor would find what he was looking for. Perhaps if Ignis could stop lying to himself about his sexual preferences, he’d be less uptight.

However, Noctis had turned over a new leaf, not grown an entirely new tree. And that was why he was shadowing the other man through the streets. There was a part of Noctis - childish perhaps, but shit, he was nothing if not honest to himself - that desperately wished to have his suspicions confirmed. So he’d follow Ignis to Balm House and see what happened.

Would Ignis go inside, return the book, and walk back out after the scant moments courtesy dictated?

Would he linger?

Noctis felt a fluttering in his heart as he realized he truly hoped Ignis didn’t deny himself this. Perhaps the Dauphin could be a bit immature and self-absorbed, but he was D’Angeline and he recognized the look of a man in Naamah’s graces. It would perhaps not be so obvious to one who didn’t spend so much time with Ignis, but to Noctis, Ignis’s feelings were crystal clear.

As Noctis continued to carefully follow the other man he sent twinned prayers to Naamah and Elua. Divine intervention wouldn’t hurt.

When he reached the base of Mont Nuit, Noctis tucked himself off to the side. He didn’t really need to climb all the way up, and truth be told he was yawning just thinking of that much exercise when he’d no plans of his own in the Night Court. He sat down in the shade of a tree just as a lovely young woman tore down the hill like she was being chased. Between the laughter sparkling in her eyes, and the fact Noctis didn’t see anyone on her heels, he relaxed the tension that had overtaken him and found himself dozing off in the warmth of the sunshine.

“Noctis? Highness?”

Noctis batted at the hand gently shaking his shoulder and rolled away from it, coming to full consciousness with a yelp when his motion was stopped by a tree trunk. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and looked to see if someone had actually been calling his name or it had been a dream. When his azure gaze met that of rich lilac, he determined that yes, he was in fact dreaming, and he never wished to wake up.

“Prompto?” he asked in a voice still sleep-blurred, pushing to be sitting upright with the tree trunk at his back.

“That’s me,” the sunny smile going along with the cheerful words was a panacea to Noctis’s spirit.

“What are you doing here?” Noctis asked.

Prompto laughed. “Uh, shouldn’t that be _my_ question?” He waved a hand towards the Court. “I mean, I live here, sooo…” He sat down, scooting close enough for their sides to press together comfortably. “What brings you to Night’s Doorstep?”

“Ignis,” Noctis muttered, not wishing to lie to the man he was so enamored with.

“Your tutor?” Prompto asked. The way one golden brow raised asked the questions he didn’t verbalize.

“Yeah. I bought him an assignation a while back, at Balm House.” Noctis combed fingers through his unruly hair, trying to restore it to some semblance of order. “The Adept lent him a book, so he wanted to return it.”

Prompto’s eyes had grown wide as Noctis spoke, and when Noctis mentioned the book, the Eglantine Adept gasped artlessly. “What book?”

Noctis thought it was an odd question, but didn’t see the harm in answering. “Delaunay’s poetry.”

“Elua…” Prompto breathed. “That’s just… okay. Wow.”

“It’s not banned anymore,” Noctis said, confusion evident in his tone. “What’s the big deal?”

“Nothing!” Prompto said quickly. “It’s a good book, that’s all.”

While suspecting there was more to Prompto’s outburst than that, Noctis chose to let the man keep his secrets. For now. “What are you up to?”

“Just enjoying the day,” Prompto replied. “Moreso now with your company… _Noct_.”

The Dauphin couldn’t deny the smile that stole over his face, hearing the nickname Prompto had given him. He reached over and laced his fingers with Prompto’s loosely.

“So, you’re waiting here for… what, exactly?” Prompto asked.

“If all he wants to do is return the book, he’ll be back out soon. But if he actually likes the Adept, as I suspect…”

“…you could be waiting here a while,” Prompto finished the thought.

“Exactly.” Noctis nodded.

“Uh, well, when did you get here?”

“I’m not sure… not long after mid-day.”

“Well, that was hours ago,” Prompto said. “You must’ve really needed that nap.”

“Damn it,” Noctis swore, rising to his feet. He didn’t relinquish Prompto’s hand, but rather pulled his companion upright alongside him. “He could’ve already left.”

“Or… he could still be there.” Prompto fidgeted, and Noctis recognized the look of someone who Knew Things and wanted to spill, but felt a need to try and avoid gossiping. Noctis fixed Prompto with a level stare, watching as Prompto’s freckles were highlighted by a charming blush.

“Okay! So, uh, the Adept your advisor is visiting? If my guess is right, it’s my best friend,” Prompto babbled. “And I went to visit him earlier and was told he was busy and not accepting visitors, but I know today is his day off, so…”

“Fuck,” Noctis breathed. He was right. He was right! Ignis was indeed taken with the male Balm Adept that Noctis had contracted on a perverse whim. And Prompto’s friend? Gods, sometimes the City of Elua seemed such a small place.

Wait. Noctis had met one of Prom’s friends… surely it couldn’t be…

“Ignis is besotted with that half-Cruithne giant?” Noctis blurted out.

“Uh… I call him Gladiolus, but yeah, I mean, he is half-Cruithne.” Prompto’s eyes grew serious. “If that bothers you… well, I _like_ you, Prince, I really do, but he’s… he’s my family.”

“No, no!” Noctis waved his free hand expressively. “I don’t care, honest. He seems… interesting, from the little I’ve seen of him. I just…” Noctis’s words trailed off and he whistled softly. When he spoke again, there was frank admiration in his tone. “I didn’t think Ignis had it in him.”

Prompto chuckled but then turned serious eyes to Noctis.  “Noct?”

“Yeah?”

“I probably shouldn't have told you that just now.  I was so surprised that I forgot all about Night Court confidentiality.”  Prompto’s voice dripped with regret, and Noctis wished he could do something to wash it all away.

While the Dauphin was sorely tempted to take this knowledge and use it in his next verbal sparring match with his tutor, he knew the truth in Prompto’s words.  Noctis had nothing but respect for the ways of the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers, and had no desire to incur Naamah’s wrath. 

“My lips are sealed,” he said gravely, though the effect was spoiled somewhat by the sly light glinting in cerulean eyes.  “Or at least, they would be if you’d kiss me already.”

* * *

Gladiolus couldn’t have thought of anything he’d expected less that day than Ignis showing up unexpectedly at his House, but he certainly wasn’t complaining.

It was fortuitous timing for the Caerdicci man to choose Gladiolus’s day off to bring back the volume of poetry. Gladiolus had been planning to while away the afternoon with Prompto, but he had no doubts his friend would understand the last minute change of plans. Gladiolus made a mental note to cover Prompto’s tab their next night out at the Nightingale.

He chattered about inconsequential things as he lead Ignis down the hallways towards his personal chambers. Naamah, but he felt like he was floating. His thoughts had been on this particular patron far more than prudent. Memories of his night with Ignis had even intruded at times while Gladiolus was trying to give his entire focus to a current client.

But really, it was the conversation at the clothier’s shop with Prompto that cinched it for Gladiolus.

Furthermore, the night he spent with Prompto in celebration of his friend’s finished marque lent further credence to the lessons Gladiolus had learned from the cradle, yet apparently hadn’t fully absorbed until now. ‘Love as thou wilt’ was more than just a catch-phrase. It encompassed the familial love he held for his father, his sister, and his departed mother. It included the warm affection he felt for his best friend, Prompto, shaded as it now was with new understanding. Truly it meant so many different things. And Prompto had helped show Gladiolus through their friendship that perhaps the most important - and most challenging - way to honor Blessed Elua’s sacred precept was by loving yourself. And loving yourself meant being honest with yourself, honoring the good and the bad, admitting to your strengths and foibles.

If he was honest with himself, Gladiolus no longer thought of Ignis as a patron.

Gods, how he longed to drop the propriety of an Adept with his contracted patron and get to know him man to man.

Familiar heat coiled deep in his core as he considered just how many ways he’d like to get to know Ignis. Patience would be required. Gladiolus was far too experienced at his craft not to recognize the clear hesitance Ignis had in being with a man.

Though, fuck, the sweetness in those kisses once Ignis gave himself over… the way he allowed Gladiolus to cradle him in his strong arms as if he never wished to leave…

It was with a brief flash of embarrassment that Gladiolus realized they’d arrived at his chambers and were standing in the hall while he was lost in his thoughts. A sidelong glance confirmed that Ignis was looking at him curiously.

“Uh, sorry,” Gladiolus said. “Got caught up in my head.”

Ignis smiled. “I do that, too.”

Gladiolus opened the door and gestured for Ignis to precede him. He followed close behind, closing the door and, after a brief internal debate, locking it.

The click of the mechanism was loud in the silence of the chamber and did not go unnoticed by Ignis, if his upraised eyebrows were anything to go by. But he didn’t protest, and Gladiolus had no desire to be interrupted.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he invited, putting action to words as he seated himself in one of the paired armchairs after reshelving the poetry collection. “Or help yourself,” Gladiolus continued, gesturing to his expansive bookshelf.

To Gladiolus’s surprised pleasure, Ignis opted to sit in the chair beside his rather than pour over the books. “I’m sorry for dropping by unannounced,” Ignis said.

“Don’t be,” Gladiolus assured him. “I don’t tend to stand on ceremony, yeah?” He grinned. “I mean, it’s different for my Service - some formality is required - but you’re welcome to come see me anytime.” He noticed the way Ignis canted his head to one side in thought, the posture combined with the piercing keenness of his emerald eyes reminding Gladiolus of nothing so much as a hawk.

“Noted,” Ignis finally said. “I was… wondering about that,” he continued hesitantly, as if he was struggling to find the right words.

Gladiolus regarded him with an open and warm expression, staying quiet with the hopes it would encourage Ignis to keep speaking his mind.

“As you may have surmised, my knowledge of the Night Court, and those who Serve Naamah, is quite… limited.” A faint dusting of pink highlighted Ignis’s high cheekbones. Gladiolus thought it was quite fetching. “I was uncertain if it’s permitted for an Adept to be friends with someone who was a patron.”

Gladiolus’s scoff of laughter was immediate. “Ignis, I’m a free Adept. I can be friends with whoever I choose. Even if I was still making my marque, my off time would be my own. But,” he paused, leaning towards Ignis and catching that verdant gaze with his own, “if I’m bein’ honest - and I usually am - I don’t wanna be your friend.”

As Gladiolus watched, Ignis seemed to crumple inward before assuming an extremely straight posture, his chin tilted high and his eyes cold and clear in stark contrast to the color filling his cheeks. “I… see. My apologies.”

When he made as if to rise, Gladiolus reached out and clasped his forearm. “No, wait! Shit, I’m doing this all wrong,” Gladiolus said with a rueful chuckle. To his relief, Ignis stayed put, though those ash-blonde brows were flying high again.

“I’ve been thinking about you so much it already feels like we’re friends,” Gladiolus elaborated, maintaining steady eye contact. “But, Ignis… I want more.”

Ignis’s eyes shot wide, and Gladiolus thought the way his mouth gaped open was charming. “You want… with me?” Ignis’s jaw snapped shut, and Gladiolus saw his throat work as if he was swallowing away some other words that fought to be released. “But _why_?”

Gladiolus smiled, amber eyes alight with affection. “Because you’re brilliant. You’re almost as well-read as I am.” He winked. “You’re beautiful. You’re brave.” Gladiolus reached to gently brush his fingertips along one of those pink cheeks. “You’re… _you_.”

“I am that,” Ignis murmured wryly. “And you’re _you_. And I’m…” he carded the fingers of one hand through his hair, smoothing the wind-blown tresses. “I’m just me.”

“I like ‘just you,’” Gladio said, leaning close enough to count Ignis’s eyelashes, but keeping that breath in between them. He needed Ignis to bridge that gap, needed him to demonstrate he wanted Gladiolus as much as Gladiolus wanted him.

When Ignis’s lips brushed against his, it was such a whisper of a touch Gladiolus would’ve thought he was imagining it. But his eyes were still open, still irrevocably honed to Ignis’s so that he was able to watch the other man’s pupil’s contract the instant their mouths touched.

It was all the answer Gladiolus needed. Naamah’s call sang in his veins, and Elua’s precept sounded in his heart. Gladiolus cupped Ignis’s cheeks gently in his large hands and kissed him so deeply he swore he could hear Ignis’s heartbeat in that moment, the rhythm a perfect duet with Gladiolus’s own.

“Gladio—” Ignis started to speak but was cut off as Gladiolus kissed him again.

Ignis’s lips were just as sweet - and talented - as Gladiolus had remembered. He felt Ignis trace his hands lightly along the edge of Gladiolus’s beard, over the stubble he hadn’t shaved off his cheeks that morning. Ignis ran one finger carefully over the length of the scar that bisected Gladiolus’s eyebrow, and then both hands curled in his long, chestnut hair. The firm touch elicited a groan from Gladiolus. Not only was Ignis responding to him, he was showing some initiative. The enthusiastic way Ignis was giving himself over to their exploration was perfection.

“I want…” Ignis eased back fractionally so his words could be understood, “I want you, Gladiolus. I do. It goes against everything I was taught, but…” he grinned, the expression sudden and youthful and somehow _free_. “Perhaps you D’Angelines are more learned in such matters than Tiberium.”

“You can have anything you want, Ignis,” Gladiolus promised. He stood up, taking Ignis’s hand and pulling him out of his chair. Moving closer, Gladiolus wrapped his muscular, woad-marked arms around the slimmer man, drawing him near. “Just speak it, and it's yours.”

“I don’t think I’m ready for… certain things,” Ignis said with another of his blushes. Gladiolus determined to find out how far down his body those flushes extended; with fair skin like his, he might well redden to his ankles.

Gladiolus peppered soft kisses along Ignis’s jawline before giving in to his impulse to bite at his neck lightly. The way Ignis gasped made it worth the wait. “We don’t have to do anything you aren’t ready for. There’s no rush, _agra_.” Gladiolus smiled. “ _Go bhfuil tú fiú an fóill_.”

Ignis shot Gladiolus a heated look and began walking towards the bed. Gladiolus walked along with him willingly, eagerly. He waited as Ignis took off his shoes and climbed on top of it, admiring the way the forest green of the blanket highlighted Ignis’s striking eyes.

And then Ignis held out his arms, open and inviting, and Gladiolus gave over coherent thought and moved to lay within the circle of those lithe arms, his lips unerringly seeking out Ignis’s once more.

Ignis said something unintelligible in a husky rasp, and Gladiolus became determined to study the Caerdicci language. He responded without thinking in the language of his mother’s people, completely unaware he’d already been speaking Cruithne. As they rolled together atop the sheets, they traded what Gladiolus assumed were words of affection and desire - Naamah knew that’s what he spoke of, and Ignis’s timbre, a half-octave low and fairly purring, seemed to be communicating just fine despite the language barrier.

Gladiolus felt Ignis’s hands slide beneath his shirt and stroke along the planes of his back and he took that as encouragement to do similar. He traced gently up Ignis’s sides, pushing the fabric of the shirt up until it pooled around Ignis’s collarbones. Where he expected hesitance, there was none. Ignis took his shirt the rest of the way off without comment, tossing it aside with a small smirk before resuming his exploration of the musculature of Gladiolus’s back, his lips hot against the pulse in Gladiolus’s neck.

He couldn’t see much from this angle, but what Gladiolus could see of Ignis’s body coincided with what he inferred from the candlelit massage. Elua, the scholar was in impressive shape for one who assuredly spent most of their time behind a desk. Growing bolder, Gladiolus’s hands spanned Ignis’s waist, sliding slowly over his stomach and along his chest. The pads of his thumbs brushed Ignis’s nipples, and when Ignis moaned in response, Gladiolus did it again, wanting to hear more, desperate to hear how that cultured Caerdicci voice would sound as he came undone.

Ignis’s nails dug into the skin of Gladiolus’s back, giving Gladiolus a brief moment to be grateful the other man kept them cut short. While Gladiolus could enjoy a great many things in the bedchamber, he was no Valerian Adept and took no enjoyment in pain for pain’s sake. Ignis must have seen the way Gladiolus winced, for he drew his hands back and when Gladiolus looked along the lines of his half-nude body to meet his eyes, he saw Ignis looked concerned.

“Did I… do something wrong?”

“Don’t worry so much,” Gladiolus murmured, bowing his head to press a kiss to Ignis’s sternum. “I’ve got you.”

Remembering the reaction he’d elicited a moment before, Gladiolus trailed soft open-mouthed kisses across Ignis’s chest. He sucked one of Ignis’s nipples into his mouth gently and was rewarded by a mewling cry and the feel of Ignis’s toned body arching up beneath him. He drew back just far enough to speak, allowing his lips to tease the hardened peak. “Too much?”

“No,” Ignis breathed in response, his hands sliding along Gladiolus’s sides. “I.. I quite like it.”

“Good,” Gladiolus said before lavishing Ignis’s other nipple with equal attention.

He felt Ignis grow hard against him and exerted supreme force of will not to reach down and palm his cock, to feel it swell beneath his hand. Gladiolus could do nothing to mask his body’s natural reaction to what they were doing, however, and knew Ignis had to feel how hard he was, pressed against Ignis’s thigh.

“Naamah!” Gladiolus wasn’t sure if he was swearing or praying. Maybe both. But fuck, he was not expecting Ignis’s questing hand to slide between their bodies and brush against the bulge of his cock where it strained beneath his trousers. The touch was light, clumsy and untutored, and Gladiolus thought he might come if Ignis did it again.

But he did not, and Gladiolus groaned into the crook of Ignis’s neck before trying to catch his breath.

Ignis allowed him no respite, kissing Gladiolus’s cheek and jaw, those clever fingers trailing over what they could reach of Gladiolus’s body as if memorizing every inch of skin.

“Maybe,” Gladio managed between panting breaths, “Maybe we should stop? Since you don’t want to… and I don’t want to push… _Elua_ …”

When Ignis drew back, Gladiolus could see that he looked very pleased with himself. For Gladiolus’s part, he had no complaints. Ignis was already an incredibly handsome man, but now… with his eyes glassy and pupils blow out, his mouth swollen from kisses and his bare chest flushed with exertion, he was a fucking work of art.

“Perhaps… lunch?” Ignis suggested.

“Yeah,” Gladiolus agreed. “I know a place.” As loathe as he was to get out of bed - not to mention for Ignis to put his shirt back on - Gladiolus thought the suggestion was a good one. In addition to being hungry, it was probably smart for them to talk more, continue to get to know each other.

He knew enough to know one thing: he was head over heels in love with the disheveled Caerdicci man in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cruithne Translations:
> 
> agra - a term of endearment  
> Go bhfuil tú fiú an fóill - you're worth the wait
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! We appreciate any kudos and/or comments you choose to leave us! <3 <3


	12. A Private Fête

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noctis, Gladiolus, Ignis, and Prompto enjoy a modest evening of festivities at the Palace.

Even Ignis had to admit, however begrudgingly, that the harried visits to the Dauphin’s royal tailor had yielded splendid results. 

The gilded mirror in Ignis’s chamber wasn’t as opulent as the massive affair that Noctis possessed in his own quarters. After the requisite bath—how D’Angelines got anything done with the amount of time they spent bathing was a mystery to Ignis—he dressed and studied himself in the aforementioned mirror.

He’d assumed Noctis would have made some underhanded attempt to dress him like a trollop despite his newfound sense of propriety, but the outfit delivered to the Palace was nothing short of exquisite. Ignis expected to be clad in the midnight blue and silver of House Courcel; however, when he unwrapped the parcel delivered to his room that morning, Ignis found he was mistaken. The soft, supple leather of the trousers clung to him a touch too closely to suit his personal preference. The tunic made up for any deficit in the lower half, its deep green velvet accented with slashes of silver and fitted like a glove.

The colour of the tunic reminded him of nothing so much as the colour of Gladiolus’s bedspread in his room at Balm House. A blush flooded his cheeks as he remembered exactly what had transpired on that bedspread when last he saw the man, the eager exploration of one another’s bodies, the affectionate words he’d babbled thoughtlessly in his mother tongue, the feel of Gladiolus’s arousal beneath his fingertips…

An uncanny coincidence, to be sure, but Ignis could ill afford to daydream about Gladiolus at the moment, not with Noctis’s fête imminent. 

The way they made his thoughts race to a certain Balm adept aside, the garments were practical, elegant, and unassuming. Ignis had been dreading this evening’s private fête since the first mention, not due to any nervousness about navigating a gathering of the peerage of the City of Elua, but because he had _no idea_ who would be in attendance. Noctis had simply remarked with one of his signature wicked grins that Ignis was sure to enjoy himself.

Somehow, Ignis doubted this assertion, but he would be on his guard. Who knew? Perhaps he might endeavour to enjoy himself. 

Ignis’s eyes flicked towards the door when a rapid series of knocks sounded against it. It opened before Ignis could give his permission, which narrowed down the visitor to a single personage.

“Good, you’re already dressed!” Noctis shut the door behind him after entering. “I half expected to come and find you’d run off into the City proper, never to be heard from again.” He flashed Ignis a bright, genuine smile as he approached. “I see the royal tailors followed my instructions to the letter.”

Ignis shoved down a sudden surge of apprehension. He _didn’t_ manage to stop himself from removing his spectacles from his face and cleaning them on his tunic. While he had settled into his role as Noctis’s tutor and advisor and made his boundaries clear in that regard, attending an exclusive fête as a personal guest of the Dauphin forced him to consider drawing a different set of lines in the sand.

“They did, Your—Noctis.” Ignis just barely stopped himself from using one of the myriad, _proper_ forms of address that the Dauphin so detested. “I offer my thanks once again for House Courcel’s generosity.”

“You mean my generosity,” Noctis corrected with a more characteristic grin, slow and catlike, his luminous eyes running up and down Ignis’s body. “I thought you might re-use it after this evening for other parties or outings. How’s the saying go? Two birds, one stone.”

“Indeed.”

Noctis paused, shifted his weight to one hip, and curled a hand beneath his chin. In the second such admission—if only within his own thoughts—Noctis cut a fine figure. His blue-black hair was arranged in a single, elegant braid that lay draped over his shoulder and down his chest. The laces up the center of his night black tunic were undone, two flaps of fabric falling open to expose a swathe of pale skin just above his sternum. Bronze embroidery along the sides of the sleeves shimmered in the firelit confines of Ignis’s chamber.

“Ignis, are you even listening? I asked you a question,” Noctis said, rosebud lips pursed in what was surely annoyance at Ignis’s inattentiveness.

 _Gods_. He should have never agreed to attend this party, but declining would have been excessively rude, especially given Noctis’s recent attempts to be more studious and less… licentious.

“I apologize. My thoughts were elsewhere for a moment.”

“Naamah’s bountiful tits, I figured that part out for myself. I asked if you absolutely _need_ your glasses to see or if it’s a personal preference. It’s rare that you go without them, but it’s a pleasing sight.”

The frankness of both the question and the compliment took Ignis by surprise. He glanced down at the item in question, still dangling from his fingers, and then back to Noctis.

Why was his heart beating in a more rapid cadence?

“I don’t require them at all times, though they do make the long hours of scouring through various texts more bearable... something you might consider should your studies continue.” Ignis chose to ignore the compliment and willed his pulse to slow. He placed the spectacles on the nearby desk without conscious thought, resolved to leave them in his chambers for the evening even as he wondered why he did.

“Thank Elua and all his Companions that I was blessed with perfect eyesight,” Noctis declared. “Among other things.”

Ah, there was a glimpse of the old Dauphin, before he turned over this new leaf of propriety and studiousness. Ignis rewarded the jest with the smallest of smiles, for once feeling fond instead of annoyed at his liege’s antics, and was rewarded with a smile of Noctis’s own.

“There, that’s more like it!” Noctis’s beautiful features—for Ignis couldn’t call them ought but beautiful, as with most D’Angelines he’d encountered—lit up with childlike glee. “I guess it’s about time we made our way to the reception room. If we leave now, we’ll arrive just this side of fashionably late, which is as it should be.”

“I didn’t realize we’d be attending together.” In all their conversations about the party—and there had been many during their daily study due to Noctis’s predilection for procrastination—he hadn’t mentioned this part of the plan either.

“What? Don’t act so shocked! I’d be a poor host if I didn’t at least accompany you at the beginning and introduce you to everyone. I highly doubt you’ve met most of my circle, but I _do_ know most of them are dying to meet you.” Noctis’s last words came out in a purr that was all too familiar to Ignis.

“Of that I’m certain,” Ignis replied. He’d had no shortage of requests for audiences since his arrival, but Noctis had instructed him to decline them all after review, stating that most were from self-serving minor peers of the realm with no genuine interest in Ignis.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Noctis asked, punctuating the question with two brisk claps of his hands. “An evening of entertainment awaits!”

Ignis gave a final glance in the direction of the mirror, ascertaining that his new finery was arranged to his satisfaction, then nodded.

“I suppose we should be off.”

* * *

No sooner than Ignis entered the reception room with Noctis were his suspicions confirmed: he’d have a better chance engaging in one on one combat with a Skaldi than coming out of this fête unscathed.

He didn’t believe it was _intentional_ on Noctis’s part, truly; he’d long become accustomed to Noctis’s mannerisms when he was being sly or conniving, and he’d seen no such evidence of those mannerisms tonight. Ignis rapidly discerned that he and Noctis held differing definitions of ‘small’. Where Ignis had expected a handful of individuals, there were upwards of twenty milling about the luxurious salon, not counting the servants that wove through the crowd with expert grace.

“Prompto!” Noctis called from beside Ignis, a joyous smile on his face, waving a hand in a beckoning motion.

A slender, blonde young man immediately perked up from his position across the salon. Ignis could see him flash an apologetic smile at his conversation partner before walking… no, gliding towards their position. The easy grace reminded Ignis of the way Gladiolus carried himself despite their complete difference in colouring and stature. Pale lavender fabric rustled along the young man’s arms and chest as he came to stand in front of Noctis.

Ignis opened his mouth to speak and promptly closed it again. Noctis swept… Prompto, he assumed… into an intimate embrace, kissing him far deeper than what Ignis had learned was customary for a kiss of greeting in Terre d’Ange. Lest he be accused of leering—and before his own cheeks could catch fire—he studied the midnight blue drapery covering a pair of floor to ceiling windows at the other side of the salon. 

“Your virtue is safe now, Ignis.” Noctis’s statement held a teasing edge that made Ignis steel his resolve for the evening.

“Thank the Gods for that,” Ignis remarked dryly. He returned his attention to the young man who’d joined them, a sunny smile on his face.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Messire Scientia. I’m Prompto nó Eglantine.” Prompto executed an immaculate bow, blonde hair falling to frame his face as he did so, and rose back to a standing position. When he did, Ignis noted the way Noctis linked his arm in Prompto’s, the gesture more casual and affectionate than he would have expected from the Dauphin.

Ignis returned the bow. “The pleasure is mine, Prompto nó Eglantine. I hear we have you to thank for the new portrait gracing the royal gallery.”

A pink flush coloured Prompto’s freckled cheeks. A small mercy—Ignis wasn’t the singular soul in this salon prone to blushing. “Yup, that was me! Definitely one of my best works for sure. But y’know, it helps when you have excellent subject material.”

Noctis laughed at that, heated and quiet, and the sound was nearly enough to make Ignis look away again. “The ducats didn’t hurt, I’m sure.”

It was Prompto’s turn to giggle and press a kiss to the corner of Noctis’s lips. “Well, no,” he agreed.

Despite his recent explorations of his own desires, Ignis still wasn’t used to such casual exchanges of affection in a public space, especially not between two men, but he tamped down on his embarrassment. He was in Terre d’Ange and, if he wasn’t exactly doing as D’Angelines did, the least he could do was mask his own selfish discomfort to maintain appearances.

That thought fell away within the next four heartbeats.

“Oooh, ooh, Gladiolus just got here! C’mon, Noct—Your Highness, let’s go say hi. I’ll introduce you!” Prompto exclaimed, gently tugging at Noctis’s arm. Ignis’s stomach twisted into several knots at the mention of the name Gladiolus. It couldn’t be...

“We’ve met, but sure.” Noctis fixed Ignis with those glittering sapphire eyes, a mischievous light dancing within them. “You too, Ignis. Time to start making the rounds of niceties.”

Oh, Gods.

Ignis strove to keep his expression neutral as he walked beside Noctis. There was no mistaking the booming bass laugh that rang through the salon, just as there was no mistaking the muscular arms covered in blue woad… arms that were wrapped around the male adept from Ignis’s first Showing, where Ignis had _thoroughly_ humiliated himself. Ignis felt his spirit detach from his mortal body as he watched Gladiolus bestow the male adept—Nyx? his thoughts were too scattered to recall if that was the correct name—with a lingering kiss that bespoke of familiarity.

Hot, acrid jealousy curdled in Ignis’s stomach. He knew the customs of Terre d’Ange—Noctis had made certain of that—but it was another thing to watch the first man he’d explored his own desires with, the first man who’d said without shame or reservation that he _wanted_ Ignis, to kiss another without a second thought. Love as thou wilt, the D’Angelines were fond of saying, and Ignis expected he would get a thorough lesson in that precept this evening.

Another shocking sight jarred Ignis from following his current line of thinking. As if it weren’t dire enough that Gladiolus was present at this fête, _both_ of the adepts from his first Showing were in attendance.

“Lunafreya.” Noctis released his grip on Prompto to embrace the female adept. Were Ignis not trying to quell his own panic, he might have wondered more at the familiarity laced in Noctis’s tone, but he was preoccupied enough to barely note it.

All the attendees that Ignis had noted were dressed in various degrees of finery, but none so elegantly—or brazenly—as Lunafreya. Her gauzy white gown with intricate lace embellishment did little to conceal each nuance of her slender figure. In fact, Ignis forced his gaze at a fixed point on the opposite wall once he noticed that the delicate pink of her nipples was visible beneath the fabric of her gown.

Perhaps he should have done what Noctis had suspected. Perhaps there was a ship bound for Tiberium, far away from Elua and his perfect, mortal children, and he could board it and never look back.

Noctis, having also embraced the male adept after greeting Lunafreya, turned his attention to the clustered group. “Everyone, this is Ignis Scientia of Caerdicca Unitas, my esteemed tutor. I don’t know if you remember them from the Showing, Ignis, but please consider yourself formally introduced to Lunafreya nó Cereus and Nyx nó Heliotrope.” Noctis paused before gesturing towards Gladiolus. “And this is Gladiolus de Trevalion nó Balm, son of Guard Captain Clarus de Trevalion and adept of Balm House.”

Noctis _had_ to have engineered this for his express humiliation. Here he had thought they were making progress at establishing a courteous working relationship. Ignis feared that Gladiolus might discern his inner turmoil if he met his gaze, so he steeled his nerves and turned to Lunafreya, resolved not to make a bigger fool of himself than he’d already been taken for.

“I’m delighted to make your acquaintance, Messire Scientia,” Lunafreya said in a melodious voice, inclining her head in Ignis’s direction.

“Same here,” Nyx added. Ignis clenched his teeth as he took in the sight of Nyx, dressed in all black similarly to Noctis but wearing… Gods, he couldn’t look for too long, lest his true feelings be made clear. More skin was laid bare by Nyx’s ensemble than was concealed from view. “I’ve gotta be honest, I was wondering how you’d managed to stick around this long, but it’s pretty clear now, gorgeous.”

Ignis had lasted all of half an hour before a characteristic blush set his cheeks aflame, as much at the frank appreciation of his attractiveness as the insinuation that he was merely a decorative ornament. He didn’t miss the sharp glance Lunafreya directed in her consort’s direction, and was thankful for it.

“Nah, Ignis is pretty smart,” Noctis interjected with a lazy grin, “though I’d say I’m teaching him some stuff in return.” 

Ignis cleared his throat and suppressed the glare he wanted to pin Noctis with. He didn’t stop himself from speaking aloud. “To clarify the Dauphin’s point, he’s provided a most illuminating cultural treatise on the customs of Terre d’Ange, specifically in regards to Naamah and her worship.”

A collective laugh rippled through the group, Noctis included, and Ignis took pride in the fact that he hadn’t overstepped in his anger. After taking a deep breath, he gathered his strength and finally met Gladiolus’s eyes. Gladiolus’s warm, genuine smile immediately eased a degree of tension from his body.

“Nice to meet you, Messire Scientia.” Ignis didn’t believe he imagined the slight emphasis Gladiolus placed on the more formal mode of address. A breath later, Gladiolus continued speaking to the group at large. “I don’t know about you all, but I fully intend on making a dent in House Courcel’s cellar tonight, which means I need to get started.” He gestured with one massive hand towards one of the servants circulating the room offering refreshments. Gladiolus made eye contact with Ignis, his gaze lingering a hair longer than otherwise would be polite, and headed in the direction he’d indicated.

“Actually, a drink sounds rather marvelous right about now. If you’ll excuse me.” Ignis offered a bow to the collected adepts and Noctis before making his retreat. As he navigated the crowd, he heard a few snatches of the continuing conversation.

“... holding out on us, beautiful.”

“Ignis isn’t ... be fine.”

“It’s, like, _such_ an honor to meet you both, wow!” In his obvious enthusiasm, Prompto’s voice carried further than the rest of them.

Ignis didn’t want to carve a straight path to Gladiolus nor did he want to dally, eager to steal a moment of Gladiolus’s time and attempt to make sense of the evening. He accepted a goblet of wine from a servingman with a far steadier grip than he anticipated given the state of his nerves. After taking a few generous swallows of what was most assuredly a wine worth savouring, Ignis made his way over to Gladiolus, easy to spot between his height and his dark blue vest.

“Hey.”

How could one simple word have such an effect on Ignis? It made him all but forget about the kiss and embrace he’d witnessed between Gladiolus and Nyx, about the shame of being confronted (however innocuously) with the pair of adepts at his first mangled Showing, about all the people milling around the salon in idle conversation.

“Good evening,” Ignis said politely. He reached for his spectacles out of nervous habit before recalling he’d left them in his chambers at Noctis’s request.

Gladiolus must have noticed the gesture, because he grinned and gave a quiet chuckle. “I like the bare faced look. And I think I’ve seen that shade of green somewhere before.”

Curse his body’s natural reactions. The mere act of listening to Gladiolus’s soothing bass ignited the blood coursing through his veins. “His Highness’s suggestion on both counts.” Ignis swirled his goblet in a circle and took another long drink of the expensive tasting red.

“Didn’t realize you’d be attending.” Gladiolus quirked his scarred eyebrow up in a silent question.

Ignis glanced around to ensure their relative privacy. Most partygoers seemed to be engaged in their own conversations, so chatting with Gladiolus wouldn’t be too out of place. In particular, he ensured Noctis’s attention remained on his gaggle of Night Court adepts before speaking. “Again, I’m here at the Dauphin’s suggestion, though I fear I may not have realized the larger scheme afoot. I confess I feel rather out of my element.”

“Confident, smart guy like you? Nah,” Gladiolus said with a wink. “Besides, I don’t think the Dauphin invites people to these things he doesn’t actually like. I know Luna and Nyx have been to a few, and Prompto…” Gladiolus paused. “Well, the bit about Prompto isn’t my place to say, really.”

“Thank you. The compliments are appreciated.” Ignis would like to believe the Dauphin _meant_ well by extending an invitation to him as Gladiolus suggested, but he couldn’t dispense with the general wariness he felt. 

Gladiolus’s thick brows crinkled in a frown. “You okay? If you don’t want us to be seen talking, I’m sure I can find another way to entertain myself. You looked like you were ready to bolt when the Dauphin led you our way.”

“No… no, I apologize. I must come off as terribly standoffish and rude right about now. I’d love nothing more than to keep conversing with you, Gladiolus. It’s only...” Ignis lowered his voice, “Lunafreya and Nyx were the adepts at my first Showing. The Showing that went… poorly on my part.”

Gladiolus hummed thoughtfully and offered Ignis another conciliatory smile. “Ouch. I can see why you were taken by surprise. Don’t worry too much, though. We adepts are a gracious bunch.” A quick wink prefaced Gladiolus’s long sip of his own wine.

“A humble bunch, too, if you’re anything to go by.” Ignis’s tone was carefully airy. He didn’t know how far to press his flirtation outside of the confines of Balm House—and he certainly didn’t want to give Noctis any reason to suspect how deep his feelings ran for Gladiolus, new as they were—but he also couldn’t tear his gaze from the other man.

“Humility ain’t ever been my strong suit, but the way I see it, I’m sure Naamah doesn’t mind.” Gladiolus leaned over to bring his face closer to Ignis’s and pitched his voice low. “While I’m glad you’re here, I do have a confession to make.”

“Hm?” Ignis wondered if the wine or Gladiolus’s heated gaze was more to blame for the abrupt sensation of lightheadedness that overtook him.

“All I want to do right now is kiss you until you’re breathless. It’s all I’ve been able to think about since I laid eyes on you tonight.” 

The sincerity in Gladiolus’s voice was enough to make him consider—for a fleeting instant—throwing all sense of caution to the wind. After all, he was in Terre d’Ange, and surely one chaste kiss wouldn’t be remarked upon. However, no matter how little he doubted his feelings for Gladiolus, even if he had yet to fully make sense of them himself, it was too large a step too soon. Best to give them both time to navigate these waters together before spurring on any untoward rumors that might result from Ignis’s carelessness.

“Perhaps you’ll get your chance later,” Ignis said. After taking a steadying breath, he reached out and brushed his fingers along the side of Gladiolus’s neck, the motion so quick he was certain no one saw it. That brief moment of physical connection made Ignis ache for the hours to pass so that the party would come to an end; he wanted nothing more than to be alone with Gladiolus and have him deliver on his promise.

“I hope so. Right now…” Gladiolus glanced around the room. “I should make the rounds. Appearances and all that. I’ll find you at dinner?”

“Please do.” How could Ignis say otherwise with those entrancing amber eyes cleaved to his?

Ignis watched as Gladiolus sketched out a brief bow and meandered off in search of other partygoers to greet. If he couldn’t have the kiss—and more, if he were honest—that he desired, he would at least take this opportunity to conduct a lingering study of Gladiolus: the muscular planes of his back, the twin braids that were woven together as one resting between his shoulder blades, and the perfectly sculpted rear that his hosen did little to disguise.

If Elua and Naamah listened to the prayers of those hailing from foreign soil, Ignis prayed they were listening now.

* * *

When those of other nationalities disparaged the people of Terre d’Ange for whatever reason, Prompto usually had a hard time seeing their argument. He was D’Angeline, loved being D’Angeline, and didn’t take it much to heart when ignorant or envious comments were made.

However, tonight he couldn’t stop staring at the endless rows of silverware lining his place setting, his etiquette training lost somewhere in the anxiety of a formal dinner at the Palace. Dish after luscious dish kept getting put in front of him and he was full _three_ courses ago. Prompto struggled to remember the names of the various personages around the table; some were from the Houses and many were famous Adepts, but they were all friends of House Courcel.

And of course, His Highness and his Advisor. Being bookended by the striking young Dauphin he was hopelessly smitten with and his eloquent, educated, _handsome_ tutor wasn’t helping. Not at all. Even Gladio’s presence wasn’t doing much to ease his nerves.

So, yes. He could see the criticisms tonight. A _little_ bit.

This wasn’t even an assignation. Prompto knew it would be easier if it was - it would make sliding into that space in his mind where he was Prompto nó Eglantine, Adept of the Night Court and renowned artist, so much easier. Instead he was just… Prompto. Invited to a party where he felt very much like the least beautiful person there, where each one of his imperfect freckles burned like embers on his skin, where he felt more like the orphaned boy from Namarre instead of the confident adept he was.

“Is this entrée not to your liking, Prompto?” Ignis asked from the left of Prompto, Caerdicci accent sculpting the soft curves of his D’Angeline into sharpened points. 

Prompto’s surprise at being addressed by Ignis almost made him jump, but he was at least comfortable navigating conversations of all kinds with a minimum degree of politeness.

“Oh, it’s lovely. I made the mistake of not bringing my appetite, that’s all,” Prompto said with a smile.

“Indeed. Aside from the Dauphin, who seems to possess an appetite hitherto unknown in the mortal realm, it seems we’re all flagging,” Ignis observed.

Prompto picked up his wine glass and took a drink longer than was entirely appropriate, hiding the sly grin that played about his lips. The man just… walked into the most obvious of double entendres. Had Noctis heard, he probably would have said something lewd, but Prompto had more tact than His Highness.

“You wonder where he keeps it all, don’t you, what with that lithe frame and taut stomach?” Prompto said with perfect innocence. Ignis coughed and dabbed at his fine mouth with a cloth napkin, and Prompto knew he’d hit the mark.

Well, he had a _little_ more tact than His Highness. Seeing Ignis flustered was unbearably charming.

“I imagine he employs a variety of methods to expend the energy,” Ignis said, tone bone dry, and Prompto didn’t bother to disguise his delighted laugh this time. Point to the tutor.

Ever gracious, Prompto opted to change the subject. “How do you find the wine? I’ve heard Caerdicca Unitas produces some of the finest, but I’ll be the first to admit I don’t know much beyond that.”

Ignis gave his own wine glass a searching look before replying. “An excellent D’Angeline vintage, to be certain. I would expect nothing less while dining within the walls of House Courcel. However, as to comparing it to that of Caerdicci stock, I’m afraid I must confess my ignorance on the subject.”

“Hmm, really?” Prompto asked, “That surprises me. If you listen to No—the Dauphin, it sounds as though you know nearly everything.”

Prompto loved to watch people’s faces and all the subtle changes they went through. His training as an artist drew his attention to the shifts, helping him find the particular shape of someone’s lips when they were surprised or the curve of their eyebrow when questioning. Prompto saw Ignis’s face flicker through several emotions—puzzlement, disbelief, pleasure—before being schooled back into neutrality.

“I’m pleased to hear His Highness has a high opinion of me. Now, if that high opinion would lead to more studying… I would be well and _truly_ pleased,” Ignis said.

Prompto laughed again, genuine and pure. He’d had patrons aplenty compliment that laugh with poetic phrases, calling it bottled sunshine or dewy spring air, but it was just his laugh. Several wondered why he wasn’t an adept of Orchis house, a remark he always responded to in the same way: there were some things even more important than laughter.

Noctis finally leaned over towards Prompto, his loose blue-black braid hanging over one shoulder. Prompto wished for a passing instant that Noctis had his hair styled in the Shahrizai braids tonight, but he appreciated the beauty of it all the same.

“What’s so funny?” he asked. Prompto had to stifle a gasp when Noctis pinned him with his midnight gaze, eyes twinkling with mirth.

Truly, the Dauphin was a touch wasted by not being in Service to Naamah.

“We were only discussing your study habits, Your Highness, which you may or may not consider amusing,” Ignis replied from Prompto’s other side. Noctis let out a rich laugh.

“Yes, I guess that would be a subject of some amusement for you, Ignis. It’s not my fault that there’s so much to _learn_ ,” Noctis said, stretching out towards Ignis and pouting in the Advisor’s direction. Prompto loved the way Noctis had to lean across him to do it.

“Gods forbid,” Ignis drawled in that accented way of his. Prompto tried to clamp down on the giggle that rose in his throat, but Noctis noticed.

“Not you too, Prompto nó Eglantine. I’m wounded. First you paint my portrait and capture my heart, now you insult my pride at my own dinner table. So mercurial,” Noctis said. His offended tone was juxtaposed against a lazy smirk. Prompto’s heart began to beat a mischievous rhythm in his chest.

Prompto was no stranger to beauty. But beauty, power, and a lordling’s charm all wrapped up in one… it was a formidable combination.

“My apologies, _Your Highness_ ,” Prompto said with an impish grin. One of Noctis’s arms was turned upwards as he braced himself on the table, his veins like tiny rivers underneath his luminous skin. Prompto took a single fingertip and sketched their outline, the motion slow and deliberate. “I promise I meant nothing by it.”

“Your words are as pretty as your art, Prompto, but I prefer actions to words,” Noctis purred.

Prompto barely noticed the screeching metallic scrape of silverware against plate from Ignis’s position beside him. His heart pounded so hard that he could feel his pulse beating in his throat. Noctis was flirting with him, right out in the open, and not because he was paying for the privilege.

He was saved from coming up with an appropriate response when servants made another pass around the large, long table, putting yet more food in front of them. Prompto sent a prayer of thanks up to Elua himself when he saw that dessert had finally arrived, signaling the end of the meal. He caught himself casting a sidelong glance at Noctis and was charmed by the childlike glee in his eyes.

“My _favourite_ ,” Noctis said. An involuntary curl of lust floated through Prompto at the way Noctis’s lips shaped the word favourite, the tone more suited to the bedroom than the dining room.

Prompto looked down at his own plate. He also loved burnt cream—though maybe not as much as Noctis—and the sight of the caramel crust in the ceramic dish below him made his mouth water. He picked up the tiny dessert spoon and ran it around the edges of the dish, trying to decide if his stomach would allow him a few bites before he had to call it quits.

Had Prompto not been situated right next to Ignis, he would have missed the tiny, strangled moan of pleasure the Advisor gave. He did _not_ miss the way Ignis’s eyes closed, his lips pressed together and head tilted back a single degree. The flat of the spoon still rested against his lips from where he’d taken a taste of the burnt cream.

Prompto, eager to share the sight with Noctis, actually elbowed His Highness in his haste. Noctis’s bold brows drew low as he frowned at the jarring motion. Prompto leaned back in his chair to give Noctis a better view and tilted his head slightly in Ignis’s direction.

“Prompto, what—” Noctis started, stopping almost immediately. Prompto watched as Noctis’s frown curved upward into a grin, wicked and beautiful in a way that bespoke of his Shahrizai blood. The grin only got sharper when Ignis caught them both staring, a pink flush creeping into his cheeks.

“Do you find the burnt cream to your liking, Ignis? It’s one of my _favourites_ ,” Noctis said, echoing his intonation from earlier, and Ignis’s flush grew deeper. Prompto was finding himself both anxious _and_ aroused by this whole situation, a dangerous combination.

Prompto admired Ignis’s gift of maintaining his composure. He was struggling with a sudden heat in his belly at Noctis’s words, and they weren’t directed at him. Ignis’s features went smooth again with only the lingering colour in his cheeks to betray him.

“I find it unusual, delightful, and not a little vexing, Your Highness—as I find many things to be in Terre d’Ange,” Ignis replied. Noctis laughed at this, not missing the subtext beneath Ignis’s words, and Prompto felt the tension ease.

Gladiolus leaned forward from the opposite side of Ignis, his dessert untouched in front of him, and grinned. “Witty and intelligent. You might be in over your head with this one, Your Highness.”

“I’ve been holding my own so far.”

With a shake of his head, Gladiolus returned to his hushed conversation with Ignis. He really should try to remember to ask his friend about their discussion the next time they met up at the Nightingale.

Noctis returned his attention to his own dessert. Prompto decided he was indeed too stuffed to even try eating his own, so he leaned closer to Noct and spoke in a quiet voice.

“Are you trying to get him to go back to Tiberium, Noctis?” Prompto asked, amused. Noctis gave a private little smile as he laved a touch of pale yellow custard from his spoon. Prompto forgot how to breathe as he imagined that tongue on him.

“He’s just so fun to torment that I can’t help myself.” Noctis clinked his spoon against the rim of the ceramic dish a few times before adding, “though I’ve honestly been trying to behave myself lately. Mostly. Except in a few specific situations.”

Prompto made sure Ignis’s focus was back on Gladiolus before replying. “I don’t know… he seems nice. Like he really wants to do a good job and fit in here. I’ve never been to Tiberium myself, but I’m sure I’d be like a fish out of water over there.”

“Not as nice as you think. Do you know he practically threatened me the day we first met? All over a silly scrap of silk.” Noctis punctuated the statement with a snort unbecoming of the Dauphin of Terre d’Ange.

Prompto lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper and grinned at Noctis. “Are you sure that isn’t why you like him so much? It must be nice to have someone around who’s honest with you… y’know, not afraid of all the pomp and circumstance.” 

Noctis set down his spoon and leaned over to place his lips against the shell of Prompto’s ear. “Almost as nice as it is to have someone who sees me for who I am,” Noctis purred.

Desire bloomed within Prompto like a living, languorous vine, twining through his veins and growing around his heart. He imagined tight buds bursting into vivid yellow flowers with each open mouthed kiss Noctis pressed along his neck. The way Noctis worked the delicate skin with lips and tongue made Prompto’s arousal begin to grow, hardening beneath the svelte fabric of his alabaster leggings.

“Let me come closer,” Prompto murmured, breath hitching as one of Noctis’s hands slid across the skin exposed by his backless, lavender tunic, “and I can show you just how much I appreciate what I see, Noctis.”

Noctis drew back and cupped one of Prompto’s cheeks in his palm; his skin felt cool against the scorching heat suffusing Prompto’s face. Even if the other attendees weren’t drifting away from the table for the post-dinner entertainment, Prompto wouldn’t have cared who saw. The sharp desire tucked in Noctis’s sapphire eyes was like a gift from Naamah herself, a gift he intended to take full advantage of. 

“Only if you say my name again.”

“ _Noctis_.” Prompto breathed the word with as much reverence as a prayer. He watched as jet black eclipsed the sparkling sapphire of those eyes—Noctis’s eyes, on him and him alone.

Noctis took one of Prompto’s hands in his own, lacing their fingers together, and pulled him towards the ornate chair reserved for the guest of honor. Prompto stood and gracefully allowed himself to be guided into Noctis’s lap; there wasn’t enough room to straddle him, so he opted to sit with his legs to one side. When he felt the hard, hot length of Noctis’s erection against his backs of his thighs, it made his own length twitch in interest.

Prompto gripped Noctis’s shoulder with his free hand to steady himself and then kissed him. _Blessed Elua_ , the sheer ardor flowing between them was like nothing he’d ever felt with a patron. Then again, Noctis wasn’t a patron, not tonight. That thought made Prompto lick into Noctis’s mouth, claiming his lips and tongue with uncharacteristic boldness, and Prompto was gratified to hear Noctis moan quietly into the kiss.

They kissed over and over until Noctis’s pale pink lips were swollen and glistening. Slightly debauched was a tantalizing look on Noctis, Prompto thought, and he longed to apply all his skill as a Servant of Naamah and see him truly come undone. Prompto unbound Noctis’s hair from its braid as their lips met once more, his fingers combing through the fine curtain of silken tresses he’d freed. 

“Prom…” As if the low, urgent gasp of the syllable falling from Noctis’s lips wasn’t enough, the shortened form of his name sounded all too like an endearment.

Had Naamah’s hand in their fortuitous meeting? Prompto hoped so. He knew the rumors about the Dauphin—about Noctis—but all he had seen firsthand proved contrary to gossip and speculation. The title, the privilege, it all meant nothing to Prompto. He wanted the young man, not the Dauphin, and Prompto sensed that same desire in Noctis as well.

Prompto decided to give voice to his own need.

“I want you. All of you.” He put none of his art into the whispered words, letting his raw need shape the words, buoyed by Naamah’s grace.

There was a spare dusting of pink along Noctis’s milk-white cheeks as he met Prompto’s eyes once more. That rosebud mouth pursed in what Prompto identified as hesitation; he tried and failed to keep his heart from sinking as he braced for what he was sure was rejection. 

“Do you remember,” Noctis started, his hands meandering along Prompto’s body in a pleasant, distracting way, “when you said you didn’t want this to be in a contract?”

“Yes.” How could Prompto ever forget?

“Well, I don’t want this to be at a party. I don’t want…” Noctis grimaced. “I don’t want people to assume you’re warming my bed for the night like others have in the past. I meant what I said about doing this properly.”

A sense of relief swept through him, so profound it made Prompto’s body tremble. Prompto gave a soft sigh and rested his forehead against Noctis’s. “Elua, don’t scare me like that. I thought you were about to tell me you didn’t wanna see me anymore.”

“Of course not. I just… I want to see you again, Prom, and soon. But for tonight, I want you to meet my friends and for them to meet you. I want them to get to know you because…” 

Prompto silenced Noctis with a kiss, deep and sure, hoping to impart some reassurance with the gesture. The way Noctis cradled his cheek and the small of his back, pulling him closer, told Prompto he hadn’t missed the mark.

“It’s okay, Noctis. You don’t have to explain. But if we don’t get going soon…” Prompto paused and beamed his best smile at Noctis, “we’ll miss the poetry recitation altogether.” He gently untangled his limbs from Noctis’s and rose from the chair, extending a hand to the Dauphin. 

“A tragedy,” Noctis drawled, but he took Prompto’s hand and stood alongside him, linking their arms together as he had at the beginning of the party.

Prompto laughed, high and bright, his heart soaring. “You’ll live. I have faith.”

“I will with you there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and for your patience while awaiting this update. A special shoutout to [dracoangelica](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracoangelica/pseuds/dracoangelica) and [raidelle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raidelle/pseuds/raidelle) for their recent above and beyond Sacred efforts.
> 
> Xy and I have reached a point where we're comfortable renewing our commitment to a bi-weekly update schedule. We hope to see you back the weekend of 6/22 for the next part of the story! <3
> 
> Stay tuned for a special treat in the Sacred universe this weekend (6/16)...


	13. What Love Looks Like

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noctis hosts a party in the Hall of Gaming.

Summer had well and truly arrived in the City of Elua. Fragrant flowers hung stubbornly on the vines out in the countryside, soon to be replaced by produce that would feed the city during winter’s slumber. The city itself was bedecked in so many blossoms one would be forgiven for assuming a festival was in the making.

There was no special occasion. The flowers were beautiful, and for D’Angelines, that was reason enough.

Ravus sneered at the garlands entwined over the archway at the Palace gates. He saw no reason for such fripperies. Perhaps if they cultivated a more staid image the rest of the world would view them as more than pampered catamites.

As he entered, he ignored the guards as one was meant to, though he filed away the eyeroll cast his way by a brown-haired woman. Imagine, allowing your daughter to be a guard. It was worse in some ways than Lunafreya’s continued insistence on serving Naamah; she was old enough that she should instead be wed appropriately and beseeching Eisheth for a child.

Truthfully, Ravus had no interest in tonight’s event. A gathering of the younger peerage in the Hall of Games was beneath him. Perhaps those who hadn’t yet been required to take on their House leadership had time for such frivolity, but Ravus had real work to do. In an effort to make tonight matter, Ravus had put one plan in motion, and held a second ready to deploy.

He’d hired an adept recommended to him by someone he trusted about as far as he could throw him. Ravus’s research, however, had uncovered that despite Aranea nó Bryony’s lack of reputation in the city, she was not without certain skills that could be quite… useful. She had her orders, and Ravus felt certain - no thanks to their contract, but to the unorthodox affiliation they shared - that she would comply.

His other gambit involved the Caerdicci tutor, Scientia. He’d never responded to Ravus’s missive. No true surprise, that - the man was working with the Dauphin, after all, and Noctis had made it clear he had no time for Ravus. It still rankled to remember the way he’d brushed Ravus aside at his fete those years ago, not even considering him as long as one would consider which vintage of wine to pair with the meat. Too, his continued interest in Lunafreya was frustrating. If Lunafreya was to continue to dedicate her life to her Service, she shouldn’t dally with Noctis.

Since Ravus failed to interest Noctis directly, and Lunafreya wasn’t proving as malleable as she had in her youth, the only inroad he saw remaining to him was the tutor. His spies reported that he and the Prince were close; not friends, but they worked together for hours every day, and that was perhaps enough. Additionally, he’d heard rumors of Scientia visiting the Night Court on three occasions, and he’d paid good ducats to uncover which adepts he’d been seeing. Ravus knew he wasn’t a bad looking man - short of birth defects or injury, there were no bad looking D’Angelines, stamped as they were with their divine lineage - but he also knew he wasn’t good with social graces. Tonight he must outdo himself. Hopefully Scientia being an outlander would work in his favor; he should feel grateful a Peer of the Realm was interested in a foreign commoner like himself.

When he arrived in the Hall of Games, Ravus frowned. Why were adepts present aside from those of Bryony House, contracted to run the games? Gladiolus nó Balm was a name that had been coming up more and more often in his spies’ reports. Ravus couldn’t keep his lip from curling into a sneer, but he stopped it before it was fully formed. Trevalion had once been a respected House - some still held it in high esteem - but Ravus was disgusted that the new generation’s blood was tainted. How dare Clarus take a Cruithne woman to wife? Bed her, fine - ‘love as thou wilt’ - but marry someone of proper breeding to bear your heirs. And for one of them to have been accepted into Naamah’s Service was just… profane.

Prompto nó Eglantine had been gracing the reports of his eyes-and-ears, if not as often. Frequently seen in Gladiolus’s company, and more recently, appearing on the guest list for Palace functions as an invited attendee rather than a hired adept.

At least they were the only two adepts-turned-guests that Ravus had to contend with tonight. He wasn’t sure how he’d handle it if he’d had to endure Lunafreya hanging all over that Heliotrope consort of hers again.

Several other noble sons and daughters were in attendance, but they held no interest for Ravus; they couldn’t further his ambition. He supposed eventually he’d need to choose a woman to marry and breed the next generation of d'Aiglemorts, but he was young and there was time.

Besides… children meant your own position was less secure, as the late Lord d'Aiglemort had learned when he took too many years to die naturally.

The Caerdicci was sitting snug up against that damned half-Cruithne barbarian. Fitting, Ravus supposed, for the outlanders to take solace in each other’s company. He plucked a goblet of wine off a passing servant’s tray and bided his time, waiting until Scientia was alone. It was with a pleased smile, one that almost reached his heterochromatic eyes, that Ravus noted Aranea was presently entertaining a small gaggle of lords and ladies that included both Noctis and Prompto. Excellent.

“Lord d'Aiglemort.” His name was shaped by a foreign accent, making it seem almost exotic. Turning, Ravus barely contained his glee - Scientia had approached him, how fortuitous.

“Scientia, is it?” he asked boredly, affecting a casual mien.

“Indeed,” Ignis answered, adjusting his spectacles fractionally on the bridge of his nose. “You’d written me some weeks back, but your missive didn’t indicate the nature of your interest. I’m well versed in Caerdicci literature as well as Hellene, and speak several languages. I know tonight is meant for… fun,” his nose wrinkled, a sentiment Ravus heartily agreed with, “but I thought since we were both here, we could discuss whichever topic it was you were interested in.”

The man thought Ravus wanted his intellect? Well… far be it for him not to use any potential tool at his disposal. He engaged Scientia in discourse on ancient Hellene folklore, though he paid the conversation little heed. His brain was whirling, trying to think how to handle this, which course of action was likely to yield the best results.

When Scientia’s tangent on Hellene grammar rules dwindled, Ravus stepped closer. His body didn’t quite press against the other man’s, but their clothing rustled as it touched. “You’re quite lovely,” he said in as silky a voice as he could manage, reaching to cup Scientia’s cheek in one hand. Ravus barely suppressed a shudder when he realized he was touching a foreigner. How filthy. But, anything for his cause.

“Um… my thanks,” Ignis stammered, stepping back. A charming flush rose to fill those angular cheeks, and Ravus felt he’d made the right move to go with compliments. After all, for one such as him to be made over by a D’Angeline? It had to go straight to Scientia’s head.

Ravus followed each backstep Scientia took until he had him literally backed into a corner. He rest a hand on Scientia’s waist, forcing what he hoped was a sensual smile on his face. 

“Perhaps we could go somewhere more private to… continue our discussion.”

“What makes you think I—” his voice was all heat and fury; Ravus could work with that. Pity that his jaw snapped shut before Ravus could learn where that sentence was going. But he had an idea, so he’d answer accordingly.

“It’s all over the city,” he said with a smirk, each word dripping with condescension and scorn, “about you and that Balm Adept.” A lie, but Scientia wouldn’t know that.

He’d struck the mark. Scientia’s already pale face blanched further, all color draining from those fine-boned features. “I don’t know… I mean, that’s just… I…” flustered words that made little sense fell from his lips like raindrops from a summer storm.

“He botherin’ you?” A low rumble interjected, sounding dangerous and unimpressed.

Lifting his eyes - Elua, this man was a beast - Ravus met the scarred, bearded, barbarian visage of Gladiolus nó Balm. “Nothing of the sort,” Ravus informed him haughtily. “We were discussing Hellene literature.”

“I don’t…” Scientia’s eyes were wide, he looked utterly perplexed and more than a little frightened. How odd. Ravus knew Caerdicci were prudes about many simple things, but why should simple flirtation set him so off-kilter?

“The Dauphin needs me,” Scientia’s words came in a rush and his feet moved with mirroring fleetness, carrying him across the sumptuous chamber to stand beside Noctis in front of Aranea’s table. Well, Ravus may have missed his mark, but perhaps Aranea would succeed where he had failed. He signaled her covertly and saw her eyes narrow in acknowledgement.

But then, a large hand clapped down hard on his shoulder, nearly causing him to lose his footing. He looked back to Gladiolus with a scowl. “Take your hand from me, Cruithne.”

“‘Lord Trevalion’ or ‘Gladiolus nó Balm’,” Gladiolus corrected him. “Not so pleasant when someone touches you without consent, is it?” He shot Ravus a look of unbridled disgust, then turned and walked away.

Ravus fumed. Imagine the gall of that half-breed piece of excrement thinking to tutor him, a Peer, a true-blooded Child of Elua in the ways of propriety?

Trying to keep his temper in check, Ravus realized he may as well go. He’d spoken with the tutor, he’d communicated the change of plans to his hireling - there was naught else for him here. Head held high, he ignored the titters and chuckles that seemed to spring up in his wake as he strode from the room. The click of his shoes on the hallway tiles was perfectly measured, giving no hint of his ire.

Not hint could be given. He would catch them off guard - all of them!

Oh, yes. These little lords would rue the day they crossed a d'Aiglemort.

* * *

Ignis recited Skaldic verb conjugation tables in his head as he endeavored to get his breathing under control. He paid no real attention to the game of chance Noctis, Prompto, and the others were engaged in - he was merely grateful it gave him context to move away from the Lord d'Aiglemort and his unseemly assertions. Surely the whole city couldn’t know? Or was such a thing truly so unremarkable and acceptable here in Terre d’Ange that they could know and think it not worth speaking upon?

No. If nothing else, Noctis would have said something. Ignis’s lips twitched in the beginnings of a small smile despite the nerves clenching uncomfortably in his gut. The Dauphin would never be able to resist needling him about it, that was for certain.

“You gonna play, or just gonna stand there and take up space?” the woman running the game drawled the words sardonically, catching Ignis’s attention.

She was striking, but that was to be expected by this point - all Elua’s children seemed gifted with an almost otherworldly beauty. Silvery-blonde hair cascaded around slim shoulders left bare by the cut of her gown. Most compelling were her eyes, a green more true than Ignis’s own, hard jade to his misty emerald.

“I don’t know the rules,” he answered, realizing he needed to give some sort of explanation for why he had hastened to join the game but didn’t actually join in.

“It’s easy enough,” she said with a grin. “You just have to…”

Ignis could have sworn she was speaking something other than D’Angeline, the explanation confused him so. “Ah… right. Perhaps I’ll just watch for now, if that’s permitted.”

“Listen to him,” Noctis murmured, bumping his hip against Prompto’s. “Such formality at the gaming table.”

“Some of us have manners,” Ignis retorted primly, keeping his focus on their hostess.

“I like it,” she winked at him, and he felt color rise in his cheeks again.

_These D’Angelines._

He watched as the game resumed, chatting idly with Noctis and Prompto. Ignis hadn’t seen the Eglantine Adept since that nerve-wracking dinner a few weeks back. The man had such a cheerful way about him, it was easy to see how he’d risen to prominence in Naamah’s Service. Ignis noted again the peppering of freckles of Prompto’s face and wondered two things. How was a D’Angeline riddled with something he’d read they’d view as an imperfection allowed to be a courtesan?

Did those freckles cover his entire body, or merely his face?

Shaking his head to dispel such uncouth fancies, Ignis tried to follow the progress of the game. It all moved so quickly and there were so many dice and chips and coins passing hands, it made it nearly impossible to comprehend.

“Yeah!” Prompto cheered. “I won! I don’t believe it!”

“Well done,” Noctis said, pressing a kiss to the blonde’s cheek.

Ignis looked away. That wasn’t for his eyes. He noticed the table hostess watching him curiously and tried to recall her name.

“I’m sorry, you said your name was..?”

“No need to apologize. I haven’t said it since you joined in.” She grinned, a flash of white teeth and vibrant eyes. “I’m Aranea nó Bryony.”

“Ignis Scientia.” He nodded politely.

“What I’d like to know,” her grin amalgamated into a smirk, “is how someone as handsome as you is at this party alone?”

_Because I insist on hiding my… whatever it is… with Gladiolus from the world._

“I’m, ah, new here,” he managed awkwardly.

“You’ve been here for months,” she argued. “Is it just that no one’s caught your eyes?” The lingering once over she gave him made him shudder. He could practically fee her gaze as surely as if she’d slide those painted fingertips along his entire body. “I saw Lord d'Aiglemort talking to you before. Is he not to your taste?”

Her question was so innocent, yet set off so many alarm bells in his mind. “He is not,” Ignis answered curtly.

“Hm.” She fell silent, very obviously lost in her own thoughts as she gathered up the dice and sorted them, preparing for the next game. “Am I?” Her tone was half flirtation and half challenge, and the quirked eyebrow encouraged him to heed the challenge and answer carefully.

“You’re a lovely woman,” Ignis temporized. He realized his companions had left and he was alone with her; why was this evening so full of unexpected traps?

“But?” she prompted, leaning forward over the table so far he worried her bosom would spill over the low decolletage of her gown.

“I don’t…” he sighed, removing his glasses to clean them. At least then he wouldn’t see her face. “I’m not interested in women.”

When he replaced his spectacles, he saw her expression had shifted to one more natural than her calculated smirk, appraising him with an interest that was innocently curious. “Really?” She glanced to either side, and leaned closer. “Me too. Well, the opposite,” she chuckled. “I serve who I must for Naamah, but when I get to choose… it’s women.”

Ignis laughed and spoke without thinking. “You should meet my friend Crowe.”

Aranea’s eyes lit up. “I’ve heard of her!” She straightened now that the confessions were over and returned to resetting the table for the next round. “She’s the Lady who joined the Palace Guard, right?”

“Indeed,” Ignis affirmed. “Quite an interesting person.”

“You’ll have to introduce me sometime.” Aranea’s smile was genuine, and Ignis decided he would. Why not? Crowe hadn’t mentioned any significant other, and Aranea was beautiful. Even he could see that, despite his growing realization that no amount of stern Caerdicci upbringing would ever make him want to take a woman to bed again, let alone as a wife.

An idea occurred, and while it was perhaps unoriginal, Ignis thought it was better than nothing. Pulling a notepad and pen from his pocket, he scrawled a couple words, folded it in half, and passed it to Aranea. “Find her when you’re done here and give her this.”

“Alright…” Aranea eyed him dubiously, but tucked the parchment into the pouch hanging from her belt.

A crowd had slowly gathered, so Ignis stepped back from the table. Perhaps he’d just helped his first real friend in this city find love, perhaps not - but he felt good for having tried.

Looking around, he frowned. Where was the Dauphin? He switched gears, looking for that sunny golden hair, knowing its owner was generally planted at Noctis’s side, but he couldn’t find Prompto, either. Ignis rolled his eyes when he realized that despite Noctis having been the one to organize this gathering, he’d probably snuck off with the man he was so besotted with.

Ignis had to smile. It wasn’t what he’d been taught love looked like, but it was obvious even to him that the two young men cared for each other deeply. He knew someday Noctis would be expected to wed politically and continue the Courcel dynasty, so he supposed the Prince had to make the most of his youth.

And speaking of what love looked like…

His eyes sought out that sun-bronzed face, those honey-warm eyes. When his gaze met Gladiolus’s, Ignis felt his heart rate increase, felt a flutter of nerves in his belly.

How was one man so intensely beautiful?

Ignis was well aware of the disfavor many D’Angelines held those who only shared part their lineage, finding them to be lesser, to be tainted.

He figured it was their loss. Gladiolus was remarkable. Ignis had never met another person so wonderful, so well-read, so handsome. He realized he was staring and coughed, dropping his eyes to regard the artistry of the carpet beneath his feet. But like a moth to a flame, he couldn’t stay away. He looked up, catching his lower lip in his teeth to bite back the longing sigh that threatened to expose his feelings to the rest of the room. Gladiolus hadn’t moved; his gaze hadn’t wavered. He stood there, a towering man surrounded by nobles moving around him, looking like nothing so much as river currents splitting around a solid boulder that had fallen into the channel.

Gladiolus was a rock. His mere presence was so soothing, so comforting, that Ignis was starting to feel like everything would be okay - that it was truly safe and acceptable for him, Caerdicci as he was, to follow Elua’s more sacred precept and love as he chose, not as society dictated.

Ignis’s feet felt rooted to the floor as though ensnared by the vines and flowers embroidered in the cloth. He watched as Gladiolus crossed the room, his stride large but careful, smiles leveled in apology at anyone he jostled.

He also saw the way that women and men alike responded to those smiles, and jealousy simmered low in his throat, threatening to choke his breath.

Inhaling past it and exhaling it away, Ignis focused on the fact that despite the bevvy of fancifully adorned, gorgeous D’Angelines all around, it was him that Gladiolus was approaching. And they had no contracts between them - naught bound them together save the tenuous feelings drawing them inexorably closer each time they met.

“Hey,” Gladiolus’s voice was a rumble as warm as the amber of his eyes; Ignis would listen to him talk for hours.

“Hi,” he answered shyly. “Are you enjoying the party?”

“It’s alright,” Gladiolus said with a grin. “I see our host has abandoned us.”

“It seems that way,” Ignis agreed wryly. He clasped his hands at his waist in an effort not to reach out as he so longed - to touch, to embrace, to kiss.

“Suppose that means we can go too, yeah?”

Ignis didn’t even try to stop the grin that wreathed his features in unadulterated joy. “I suppose it does.”

He followed Gladiolus from the Hall of Games and through the palace halls until they spilled out into the same garden Ignis had passed an afternoon reading poetry what felt like a lifetime ago. 

As soon as the door clicked shut behind them, Gladiolus’s large hand engulfed his. Ignis marveled at the contrasts - the silken skin and short coarse hairs, the carefully trimmed nails and calluses on the palms.

The moon was full, and bathed the garden in ethereal light. Jasmine flowers shone in the radiance - night blooming, like the man Ignis was with. For a time, Ignis was content just to walk hand-in-hand in the peaceful silence, away from the prying eyes and gossiping tongues of the Royal Court.

But these moments were likely to be fleeting, and therefore should be savored.

“Gladiolus,” Ignis whispered, tipping back his head to catch sight of that molten amber gaze.

“Yeah?” Gladiolus lowered his chin, locking eyes with Ignis, his expression open and affectionate.

_To all the hells in every mythology with_ words, Ignis thought before pressing his lips against Gladiolus’s desperately. It felt quite daring to kiss Gladiolus beneath the weeping willows, surrounded by exotic flora, outside of the safety of walls. But also freeing. His heart soared when Gladiolus’s free hand came up to rest at the back of his neck, holding him close as their lips continued to dance.

“Ignis,” that bass voice purred so close to him, Ignis could feel Gladiolus’s lips vibrate against his: captivating, alluring, tempting.

He kissed Gladiolus again deeply, tracing his tongue along Gladiolus’s lower lip until he felt the other man’s mouth part for him. Sliding his tongue inside brought to mind a different sort of penetration, and his resolve faltered a shade. Gladiolus naturally picked up on his hesitance - how not, as well versed as he was in the body language of those around him?

“What’s going on in that noisy brain of yours?” Gladiolus’s words were playful, but his tone was all concern.

Ignis led him to the same bench he’d sat on to read Delaunay’s poems that sunny spring day. Once they sat, he angled himself towards Gladiolus and smiled self-deprecatingly.

“Even after all _this_ …” he faltered, seeking the correct words. “This is still hard for me, Gladiolus.”

“Define ‘this’.”

His face on fire, Ignis dropped his eyes to the dirt. “Being with a man sexually,” he responded frankly. Ignis might be uncultured by his sheltered Caerdicci upbringing, but he wasn’t stupid; he knew full well where his and Gladiolus’s flirtations were heading. But that wasn’t the secret truth held in his heart, a truth he felt it was long past time to confide in Gladiolus. How else was this to ever work?

“Being in love with a man,” he whispered, studying the shadows cast by the nearby trees. Ignis scarcely felt he could breathe; this was the first time he’d admitted aloud what he’d been carrying in his deepest self for weeks.

He was in love with Gladiolus de Trevalion nó Balm.

Ignis had finally fallen in love.

With another man.

Finding the courage to lift his gaze, Ignis was unprepared for the sight of Gladiolus weeping silently, tears trickling slowly from that honey-gold visage he found so compelling. But Gladiolus’s lips were curved in a wide smile, so Ignis’s heart lightened.

Gladiolus wasn’t wroth with him. Perhaps his fears were for naught.

And just like that, something shattered in Ignis that had been carefully built for decades. The walls were torn down, rent asunder. Years of conditioning from the cradle onward, endless lessons about who it was appropriate to love, and how it was appropriate to love them.

Perhaps as he was already casting away the sociological conditioning over whom he was allowed to love, it was also time to dispose of those antiquated notions over which acts were and were not acceptable.

With a shy smile on his face, Ignis reached out and began undoing the fastenings on Gladiolus’s pants.

“Ignis, what are you doing?” Gladiolus asked, confusion and desire both manifesting on his bold features.

After lifting Gladiolus’s phallus, heavy and half-hard in his hands, free from his clothing, Ignis smiled up at him again. “Loving you,” he explained before sliding off the bench to his knees, heedless of the way the dirt would stain his trousers. He stroked a hand slowly over the length of Gladiolus’s shaft, marveling at how it felt so similar, yet so different, from his own. Perhaps the things he liked, Gladiolus would also like.

The Balm Adept wasn’t the only one schooled in the reading of body language.

“Ignis, you don’t have to…” Gladiolus protested weakly, his words trailing off in a gasp when Ignis’s hand squeezed a touch more firmly on the upstroke.

“But I _want_ to,” Ignis whispered before closing his lips around the head of Gladiolus’s cock.

Gladiolus’s response was to moan raggedly and lay a hand tenderly at the crown of Ignis’s head. He wasn’t pushing him to take more in, nor was he pulling Ignis away; he was just touching him, and Ignis savored the gentle caress.

Ignis slowly took Gladiolus further into his mouth. He knew there was no way he’d be able to take the other man’s considerable length completely, but he was curious to see how far he could make it. Wrapping one hand around its base, he pushed forward until he felt his gag reflex kick in just before his lips touched his fingers. Not bad, especially for a first effort.

He realized he was critically appraising his own skills at - what did they call it here? _languisement_ \- and laughed softly. The vibration of his laughter must feel particularly good, or perhaps Gladiolus was moved by the mere existence of Ignis’s joy. Either way, he was rewarded with a mouthful of pre-come.

“Ignis, gods, so good,” Gladiolus murmured with a voice blurred as if he’d drank too much wine at the earlier gathering. Ignis felt a surge of confidence - he had done that to Gladiolus. His untutored ministrations had made the seasoned Adept begin to come apart, and it was a heady rush that he wouldn’t soon forget.

Ignis drew his tongue slickly over the vein running along the underside of Gladiolus’s erection, tracing it until he reached the tip. He flicked his tongue along the slit in Gladiolus’s cockhead, savoring the fluids that proved he was doing something right. Then he was diving down again, cheeks hollowing as he applied suction, trying to imagine what would feel good if done to his own throbbing phallus, trapped painfully beneath his formal attire. Bobbing his head, he moved the hand he’d kept wrapped around the base so that both his mouth and fingers were working together, caressing back and forth over Gladiolus’s swollen length.

“Oh, _Ignis_ ,” Gladiolus’s rich voice broke. “If you keep that up, I won’t be able to hold back.”

Drawing back with a loud, wet pop, Ignis leaned up to kiss Gladiolus’s neck, his chin, his cheeks, and finally his lips. “Then don’t,” he suggested, staring into that molten amber gaze. Dropping back down to his knees, he took Gladiolus into his mouth again, one hand again joining in the effort, the other planted on Gladiolus’s muscular thigh for balance. Gods, the way that thigh tensed beneath his palm, the muscles flexing as the adept strove to maintain some semblance of self-control.

That simply wouldn’t do. This wasn’t the time for self control.

This was the time for self discovery.

_Naamah_ , Ignis prayed. _If you’ll hear a foreigner's entreaty… I ask for your assistance. I just want to make him feel a fraction of the way he’s made me feel. Please, Naamah. Elua. Anyone up there who is listening, that’s all I want._

Gladioulus’s orgasm took them both by surprise; he cried out, and Ignis spared a moment to hope no guards came running. If one did, let it be Crowe - at least she’d understand. The flood of fluid made Ignis choke, but he stubbornly kept his mouth in place, opening it at the corners to let the evidence of Gladioulus’s peak trickle out and land in the loamy dirt before his knees.

When Gladiolus’s phallus no longer pulsed between Ignis’s lips, he felt Gladiolus’s strong hands guide his head gently back until their eyes could meet. Ignis reached up to caress his sore jaw with one hand, but he measured the pain as worth it to put that starry look in Gladiolus’s incandescent eyes.

“Tá mé i ngrá leat freisin,” Gladiolus murmured, bracketing Ignis’s face in both his hands and bowing down to kiss him sweetly.

Ignis may not speak Cruithne, but the heart knows what it knows; right now, his was soaring.

He loved, and was loved in return. Ignis imagined Elua was smiling up there in the Terra d’Ange that lies beyond, for after this wondrous occurrence, how could he do aught else but believe?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cruithne translation: Tá mé i ngrá leat freisin = I'm in love with you too
> 
> Thank you all for your patience, and for continuing to read this labor of love. <3 We appreciate every single kudos, comment, and Tumblr flail.
> 
> Stay tuned in two weeks for chapter 14!


	14. You, and You Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignis and Noctis venture out of the Palace for the day, together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning/spoiler alert: there's a bit of violence in this chapter, but nothing too graphic.

“We should take a break.”

Ignis didn’t bother to disguise his sigh. Though Noctis’s mood had improved recently, they’d only just begun the day’s lesson not a scant hour prior. Ignis was eager to have some demonstrable proof that he wasn’t merely collecting the generous salary offered by the Palace without putting any effort into his duties. He’d hoped that proof would come in the form of Caerdicci vocabulary, but it appeared the Dauphin had other ideas.

“Noctis, you do realize this is our first lesson in four days time? We’ve much ground to cover if there’s any hope at meeting the objectives stated in the curriculum.” Not that he’d read the curriculum Ignis had provided, to be sure, but it pleased Ignis to maintain the illusion of proper teaching methods.

“I know, I know,” Noctis said. Ignis followed his gaze to the sunlight streaming through the massive, arched windows. “I thought maybe we could make a deal.”

“What sort of _deal_ would you like to propose?” Ignis asked, raising an eyebrow and regarding Noctis with a flat stare.

“If you and I go out into the City today, I promise you’ll have my full, undivided attention for the remainder of the week’s lessons.” Noctis leaned over the desk, placed one elbow on the sheet of parchment in front of him, and curled his fist under his chin with a catlike grin.

“There are only two days left in the week.” Ignis’s tone now matched the flatness of his stare.

“Yeah, _but_ it would be two days of me as a model student. Think of how much we could get done!”

“Consider how much we could accomplish _today,_ as well as the next two days, if we _didn’t_ meander about the City during lesson time.”

Noctis’s rosebud lips pursed in an all-too-familiar pout. “There’s a show being put on at Eglantine House early this evening that I thought you might enjoy… some kind of historical re-enactment. You’re always saying you want to better your knowledge of D’Angeline history and culture.”

Ignis’s cheeks began to heat in a way that had nothing to do with the ambient temperature of the room. He’d managed to put his encounter with Gladiolus in the Palace gardens out of mind until now, when Noctis’s words called a surge of warmth and memory from the depths of his being. In another place, another time… Ignis would have considered his actions not three nights past wanton and debased. He would have been ridiculed at best and cast out of Tiberium at worst. 

Now, all he wanted was the chance to experience it again, to determine if it was indeed Naamah’s grace he had felt…

A snap of fingers pulled Ignis from his distracted thoughts. “Are you actually considering it, Ignis, or are you doing the thing where you ignore me outright?”

“As it happens… neither, _Your Highness_. Contrary to what you seem to believe, my every action does not necessarily revolve around you.” Ignis laced the barest suggestion of haughty frost into his words and straightened in his chair.

Noctis’s pout morphed into a tiny, impish grin. “There’s my predictable tutor, always ready to put me in my place.” Noctis tipped his chair backwards so far that it balanced precariously on two legs. “So, what do you say? An afternoon and evening of cultural enrichment in exchange for two days of studenthood worthy of Shemhazai himself?”

Ignis stifled a sigh. He supposed Noctis had been making better efforts to keep his word—perhaps this would supply Ignis with some leverage when the Dauphin inevitably began to flag in his promised studiousness. He did feel compelled to clarify one point, however.

“When you say ‘show’... you are referring to a play of some sort and not a _Showing_ , correct?” Ignis asked.

Noctis laughed, the sound rich and delightful as it was when it came from a place of genuine mirth. “Only a play, Ignis. Only a play.”

“Then I accept your terms.” Ignis extended a hand towards Noctis, as one did in his homeland to signify the closing of a deal, and waited for Noctis to clasp it.

A tinkle of glass beads accompanied the motion of Noctis standing from his chair, his twilight gaze flicking between Ignis’s proffered hand and face. In the space of a heartbeat, Noctis swooped in and pressed a kiss to the corner of Ignis’s lips, withdrawing with a knowing smirk. “In Terre d’Ange, we seal bargains with a kiss. Did no one tell you?” The faint scent of jasmine was left in Noctis’s wake as he withdrew.

Stunned at the brazen display—but perhaps less offended than he might have been upon his arrival—Ignis let his hand drop to his side. “Somehow,” he began drily, “I sincerely doubt the accuracy of that statement.”

“Feel free to ask around about it!” Noctis called, already on his way out of his chambers. “I need a bath before we go. You should think about doing the same.”

Of _course_.

“Very well, Noctis.”

* * *

“The Palace Guard wing lies in the opposite direction.”

“Why in the name of Elua and all his Companions would we need to go to the Guard wing?” Noctis asked with a toss of his now-unbound hair.

“Do you truly need me to answer that question for you?” Ignis fired back.

“Stop being so fussy. I go out all the time without a full regiment of the Guard. It’s so annoying to have twenty armed guards surrounding you. It draws more attention than going out on my own!”

“Have you considered,” Ignis paused to follow Noctis along a cool, dimly lit corridor, one of the Palace’s many secret passages that he had yet to fully learn, “that they wish to perform their duty to the utmost, much as I wish to perform mine? It’s their livelihoods that you’re denying them when you insist on escapades such as these.”

Noctis groaned, the sound echoing through the confined space. “They hate it, just like you probably hate it.”

There was a bitterness colouring the words that Ignis had never heard from the Dauphin before, so different from his usual, flippant self, that Ignis stopped dead in his tracks. “Noctis. A moment.”

After conjuring a flame to light a nearby torch, Noctis came to a halt and turned towards Ignis. “What?” he snapped, annoyance chiseling his beautiful features into a more fierce visage.

“Do you honestly believe all those that serve you, Her Majesty, and Terre d’Ange _resent_ their obligation?”

“Why wouldn’t they? I know the rumors about me. Everyone thinks I’m unfit to rule. It only makes sense that they would chafe at having to serve me.”

A strange emotion—not quite annoyance, not quite pity, not quite empathy, but some strange mix of all three—kindled in Ignis’s chest. He couldn’t understand why Noctis was choosing this moment to open up to him, to display these doubts that he surely kept under lock and key, but hearing the dejection in his tone softened Ignis’s heart by degrees.

Ignis recalled Queen Aulea’s words to him: ‘it was our hope that you might also become his friend and confidant as well’. Was it a coincidence that those words had been spoken in the same place Ignis found the courage to overcome one misgiving in his heart, though others may yet linger?

Mayhap the gods of Terre d’Ange had more sway on mortal affairs than Ignis had previously assumed.

“I’m sorry,” Noctis said quietly, looking anywhere but at Ignis. “That was uncalled for. Forget I said anything.” He started walking down the hallway once more, extinguishing the torch he’d lit with a curled wave of his fingers.

Before he could further contemplate the repercussions of the action, Ignis reached out and took Noctis by the shoulder, palm sliding against the silk of Noctis’s tunic. How comfortable in his role had he gotten in his role to lay hands on the Dauphin himself? He swept the thought away like cobwebs from the corner of his study and then spoke.

“You and I tread more common ground than you might realize. Although the expectations were—” Ignis faltered, searching for the correct word, “different than those you face, I too laboured under false assumptions back in Tiberium. Had I not accepted the position as your tutor, I’d labour under them still, and would be miserable for it.”

“I thought we agreed to skip the lecture for today,” Noctis said, though a tiny smile accompanied the words. 

“We agreed to forestall a lecture on the Caerdicci language with this excursion,” Ignis corrected. “My point is… you know that you’re capable of more. You need only act on it. If you stopped flaunting the directives of those tasked to ensure your wellbeing and education, your progress could be quite rapid indeed.”

A shadowed darkness shifted through Noctis’s eyes and disappeared, though he didn’t make any move to remove Ignis’s hand from his shoulder. “Are you quite done?”

“For now,” Ignis replied agreeably.

“Your concerns about _both_ my lacking education and desire to avoid being tailed by a gaggle of babysitting Guards have been noted. Can we go?”

Ignis released his grip on Noctis and drew up to his full height. “We had an agreement, and I don’t intend to break my word, nor should you.”

He expected some further rebuttal or commentary from Noctis regarding his momentary lapse in good judgement, but none came. In fact, if Ignis had to describe the silence as they made their way through the underground passages, he’d deem it contemplative. He’d spent enough time in Noctis’s company to be able to read the Prince’s moods with relative ease—Ignis sensed none of the prickly displeasure that usually accompanied his attempts to be more direct with Noctis.

A small blessing.

It took less time than expected for Ignis and Noctis to emerge from the Palace into the outdoors. After the poorly lit passages, the brilliant summer sunlight drew forth a trickle of tears from Ignis’s eyes, prompting him to remove his spectacles and dab at his eyes with a sleeve.

Noctis led them in serpentine paths around the Palace grounds; the convoluted twists and turns led them to a ruined section of stone wall crumbled low enough to scale. One awkward shuffle over jagged rock later, Ignis and Noctis were in the City proper.

“Is Guard Captain Trevalion aware of that breach?” Ignis asked, fixing Noctis with a sharp glare, staring daggers at his svelte back.

“No, and I’d like it to stay that way.” Noctis brushed a bit of dust off his trousers, seemingly unperturbed by Ignis’s ire. He wore a beaming smile as he faced Ignis, which confirmed his suspicions.

“And you say you do this _routinely_?” Ignis didn’t attempt to keep the incredulity from his voice.

“ _You_ said it yourself. I’m quite clever,” Noctis declared. If he was a cat during lessons, languid and lethargic, he was a peacock now, preening and vain.

“Those weren’t precisely my words.”

“Close enough. Something about trying harder.” Noctis waved a hand at Ignis, beckoning him forward. “Come on! If we hurry, we’ll catch my favourite vendor at the market before they pack up for the day.”

Resigned to make the best of this outing with Noctis—to _try_ and get to know the young man instead of the spoiled Dauphin, to give him the benefit of the doubt—Ignis followed.

Noctis had been right about one thing, at least—the day was utterly beautiful. Though sweat dampened the back and underarms of his tunic, a persistent breeze abated the heat and provided a measure of relief. All Ignis could see along the horizon was the endless, perfect blue of clear skies interspersed with a few wispy, white clouds. If Ignis were to choose any day to eschew both lessons and his own personal studies, it would be a day like this.

A few keen-eyed individuals made their obsequience to Noctis as they made their way through the City streets, though less than Ignis might have feared. The fair weather meant larger crowds than usual; this also made it easier for the two of them to blend in with other passersby.

Since Noctis had insisted Ignis accompany him on this errand of leisure, he decided to test the waters with slightly more intimate questions. “This play we’re seeing… is it being held at Eglantine House proper?”

“It is.”

Ah. Those two words offered far more insight into Noctis’s insistence and distraction than Ignis had previously gleaned. “Will one Prompto nó Eglantine be participating in this play?”

“Prompto? No… at least, I don’t think so.” Noctis laughed quietly to himself. “I wouldn’t put it past him to end up in the play anyway.” A catlike smile spread across Noctis’s face. “Finally taking an interest in the wellbeing of my love life, too?”

“Merely a personal curiosity,” Ignis replied with all the detached mien of academia he could muster.

“Oh, so now it’s _personal_?” Noctis purred.

Ignis sent a silent prayer of thanks up to the gods for being able to blame his blush on the heat. It didn’t stop him from unleashing a few muttered curse words in Caerdicci under his breath. “Must you make everything so lascivious?”

“Another D’Angeline tradition.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“It might be. How can you say for sure? Have you finally made some friends here in the City?” Noctis’s tone was laden with childlike glee.

“As a matter of fact, I have, though I haven’t exactly delved into the intricacies of D’Angeline idioms and customs with them.” Ignis noted his words weren’t entirely true; he supposed his time with Gladiolus could be termed an exploration of Terre d’Ange customs, but it was also so much _more._ In any case, Ignis didn’t feel ready to broach that subject with Noctis, not now and perhaps not ever.

“Really?” Noctis’s tone was far too innocent for Ignis’s liking. “What _have_ you been delving into, then?”

The retort Ignis on the tip of Ignis’s tongue vanished when a loosed arrow flew by his head, nicking his ear and leaving a bright blossom of pain in its wake.

The inevitable conclusion sprang to Ignis’s sharp mind with alarming alacrity: they were under attack.

“Noctis, this way!” Ignis hissed, forgoing any notion of propriety entirely as he grabbed Noctis by the arm and dragged him towards a nearby alleyway. Not that he had to use much force—for once, Noctis acted in accordance with Ignis’s directive, moving with him instead of against him.

Unfortunately, the narrow passage between two buildings led nowhere. It removed them from the open area of the miniature square, but it wouldn’t get them away from their assailant. Ignis’s mind raced, assessing their options.

“Guards! _Guards_!” Noctis bellowed with more volume than Ignis had thought him capable of.

That was one option, and not an unwise one at that, though as Ignis scanned the portions of the street visible from his vantage point, he found them strangely empty of both guard and citizen alike. His bickering with Noctis had distracted him enough to let the unusual circumstances slip his normally acute perception.

“Have you any weapons on your person?”

“What, am I some aspiring duelist, running around with my sword strapped on me like a second cock? Of course I don’t have weapons!” Noctis said, incredulous. “I have magic, but… only lightning is any good at range, and I’d need to see the target.”

Ignis exhaled and bit back the urge to argue. Plenty of time for that _after_ they were out of immediate danger. Another arrow thwipped past their faces and clattered to a halt at the end of the alley—it had been too much to hope for that their attackers hadn’t seen where they’d hidden. Ignis braced his back against the wall and lifted one foot up, digging around the inside of his boot until he found the thin, tapered knife he was searching for. He pulled it out and offered it hilt-first to Noctis.

“I—” Noctis began, cutting off as another arrow was loosed in their direction. He accepted the knife from Ignis with a strained grimace. “Thanks.”

“It’s not ideal,” Ignis said, eyebrows pinched together in focus as he retrieved a second knife from the opposite boot. “But we must use what resources we have available.”

“Two tiny knives, magic, and our wits. Not looking great.”

“It’s all we’ve got.” Ignis searched the sides of the building for anything they could use to climb up and over—ladders, barrels, trellises, _anything_ —and found none. “How long until the Guard catches up to you on these excursions?”

“Depends. Maybe soon, maybe never,” Noctis muttered, eyes trained on something on a rooftop opposite their position. “I think I see an archer… might be just out of range, though.”

“I’d suggest—” Ignis ducked low to the ground as an arrow whistled through the space. “—suggest making the attempt nonetheless.”

Electricity gathered in the air, an instantaneous charge permeating the close quarters, strong enough to make all of Ignis’s hair stand on end. Noctis raised a hand, pointer and middle fingers extended; a white-hot streak of lightning arced through the square and towards the rooftop, the accompanying crack nearly deafening. A black cloaked figure tumbled forward off the roof to the ground below, landing with a thud that Ignis could hear even from their nook in the alley.

 _Gods_. He’d had no idea Noctis commanded that level of magic at his very fingertips, not when he’d only used it for pointless displays like chilling his drinks and lightning torches.

Ignis’s brief moment of awe vanished as fast as the lightning had. More masked, cloaked figures in varying degrees of armor filled the mouth of the alley. Ignis counted five, one in full plate with a sword and shield, and stifled the first vestiges of panic that twisted in his gut.

Panic would serve no one.

Though it pained him to relinquish his only weapon, the dagger he held _was_ made for throwing. Praying to each and every god he knew for a stroke of luck to balance out their misfortune, Ignis hurled it in the direction of the attacker wielding dual daggers, aiming for one of their eyes. The man’s scream and the clatter of the daggers to the cobblestone street were music to Ignis’s ears.

“Can you clear us a path? We’ve no choice but to run,” Ignis asked, terse and quick.

“Yeah. Leave it to me,” Noctis replied. “Get ready to book it.”

Ignis’s entire body broke out in a sweat as Noctis stood and created massive gouts of flame; they poured forth from his hands like a fountain of fire, creating a barrier between them and their pursuers. The air shimmered from the sheer heat of the magic, an effect that might have been beautiful were Ignis not in mortal danger. As Noctis moved, the wall moved with him, growing in thickness and intensity the longer Noctis poured power into it. A cacophony of jumbled commands, screams, and yells came from the other side of the fire, but Ignis paid them no heed. He only paused to grab the knives his opponent had dropped—not as well made as his own, but any weapon would do at this point.

Once they maneuvered out of the alley, the wall of flame disappeared. Ignis allowed three heartbeats for assessment, noting that three of the remaining attackers lay in smouldering heaps on the ground, only the figure in plate still standing. As Noctis began to run, Ignis followed, sticking to his side as best as he was able.

The hope that they’d seen the last of the assassins was short lived. More figures burst from doors, came out of side streets, and dropped from low rooftops, all in pursuit.

“They’re… really trying to kill me… huh?” Noctis huffed between breaths.

“If anyone will get that privilege,” Ignis shot back, glancing over his shoulder and fighting off a fresh surge of alarm at the number of pursuers, “it will be me.”

Where _was_ everyone? The way this section of the City had cleared out spelled one thing: this had been a trap, and a well-thought out one at that. How would they have known Noctis would choose today to go out, or what path he would choose? More than that, _how_ had they commandeered a whole section of the City so quickly?

Ignis’s racing thoughts ground to a halt as they rounded the corner and faced down a waiting assassin, blade drawn and already in motion, flashing silver in the high noon sun.

A blade aimed directly at Noctis. A blade which, if allowed to land, would throw an entire country into turmoil.

Ignis did best when given space to think, to see all the possible outcomes, but there was no time to think and only one single moment to act. He shoved Noctis to the ground with a hip check, sending him sprawling, and met the oncoming blade with one of his stolen weapons. The force of the assassin’s blow sent the dagger flying out of his hands.

Ignis noticed the second short sword just in time to watch it pierce his stomach.

Pain spiraled from the wound through his body, intense enough to drive him to his knees. Gods, _Elua_ , Ignis defined and redefined the word pain in a single instant, crippled by sheer agony, blood seeping through his fingers as he held them uselessly to his abdomen. Had he been impaled? Vertigo joined the pain and sent Ignis reeling where he knelt. 

The assassin turned his attention back to Noctis, intent on finishing the job. Ignis tried to move his body, to make his limbs obey his instructions, but they wouldn’t respond to his commands. Agony upon agony. Delirious panic filtered up through the haze of nigh unbearable torment.

He was dying. Noctis was still in danger.

Before his eyes closed, weighed down as though by lead, Ignis saw Noctis rise from the ground, featured blanched and twisted in horror. Then his eyes shut and there was nothing but black.

As unconsciousness dragged him into the dark, Ignis leaned into it, dissolving into oblivion as a welcome respite from pain.

* * *

The sight of Ignis motionless on the ground, a liquid red stain blossoming across his abdomen like a macabre flower, stripped the fear from Noctis like a cleansing fire. In his lessons, his instructors had hinted at moments like this, moments where the presence of Camael himself guided their swords and strengthened their resolve.

Noctis had no sword, but he had a great deal of resolve.

He had to attend to Ignis—a deep, freely bleeding gut wound meant Ignis could have hours or minutes without Noctis’s magic—but he had to stay unharmed himself.

Not a problem.

Noctis grabbed hold of the assassin who had run Ignis through and unleashed a torrent of ice magic, pouring power from a wellspring deep inside him he hadn’t known existed until now. Frost rippled over the man as though he had been touched by the hand of winter herself, freezing him solid within the blink of an eye. Unsatisfied, Noctis continued to direct magic into him until he shattered, pieces of his corpse glimmering like diamonds as they exploded through the air.

One down. Many more to go.

A pity the swords had shattered along with the man. Noctis turned, full of chill calm, and coated the ground around him in ice except for the spot where he stood and Ignis lay. As a cluster of black cloaked attackers advanced on his position, he summoned forth lightning, as raw and intense as though taken directly from the heart of a summer storm. Chain lightning arced between the bodies over and over, more bolts joining the initial cast as Noctis lent the spell more strength. The few assassins that weren’t done in by the lightning lost their balance on the treacherous surface Noctis had created.

It took only a thought and a gesture to expand upon the icy ground until the fallen assailants were entombed in a frozen prison.

When Noctis heard the racing footsteps coming in his direction, he raised his hand once more, gathering lightning to release in a series of single, devastating bolts. He was a breath away from unleashing it when a familiar voice stopped him.

“Your Highness!” Brother Cor called from across the slick ground. “Are you unharmed?” 

Noctis tried to speak, found words eluded him, and settled for a nod. In the distance behind Cor, he could see flashes of blue and silver Palace Guard uniforms, most locked in combat with Noctis’s attackers. He melted a path for Cor to cross without conscious effort and then turned to Ignis.

Noctis half knelt, half fell to the ground beside Ignis; he put the palm of his hand flat on Ignis’s chest and found it still moving, albeit barely. There was enough blood that the entire front of Ignis’s tunic was soaked in it from where it had spread. Noctis frantically tried to release the grip on the primal, elemental magic that surged through him in favour of the gentle, more elusive power of healing, but found it lingering out of reach.

No, no, not now, not when Ignis looked half dead already, not when he was gravely injured because of Noctis’s own arrogance and stupidity. Noctis reached for the effervescent bubble of healing magic and felt it slip through his grasp once more. Panic and guilt shaking him to his core.

“Elua, _Eisheth_ , please, _please_ ,” Noctis babbled unthinkingly, “if you ever choose to listen to the prayers of mortals, please listen now. Please help me fix this. I swear by Elua and all his Companions, I won’t leave the Palace unattended again, I’ll try harder, I’ll do _better_ , please, sweet Eisheth, I’ll do better. I swear.”

Tears streamed down Noctis’s face as he called upon healing magic once more. Guarded by Cor and out of harm’s way, his limbs began to shake, both from exhaustion and panic.

“Please, not Ignis, please... it should have been _me_ ,” he whispered.

Like a key sliding into a lock, the pleasant warmth of magic burst through Noctis, coursing through his limbs and into Ignis’s unconscious body. Brilliant green light engulfed Ignis and Noctis both as he channeled more and more power into the spell. Relief trickled through Noctis as Ignis’s wound knitted itself, a bit of colour returning to his cheeks, and his breathing becoming more steady. He gathered as much magic as he could until it physically hurt to hold and let it flow into Ignis like a rushing river.

Though Ignis’s eyes remained closed, Noctis reached the point where there was nothing to direct his magic to, signifying that any healable injuries had been healed. Fear joined the relief—what if he had been too late? What if Ignis never woke up? A maelstrom of guilt, anger, fear, and panic made the tears flow more freely down his cheeks, falling onto his bloodied hands like morbid rain.

“Ignis!”

Noctis had been so absorbed in his efforts to heal Ignis that he hadn’t noticed Crowe’s approach. She knelt on the ground beside Noctis, hands running over Ignis’s motionless form, peeling back the ripped tunic to examine the skin underneath, relaxing once she lowered her head to Ignis’s nose and listened to his breathing.

Then she turned to Noctis.

“You,” Crowe snarled, rising to her feet and hauling Noctis with her, “are lucky Brother Cor is here, because I am extremely close to commiting high treason.”

“Crowe…” Cor said, a quiet warning.

Noctis’s heart pounded in his chest, too exhausted to fight. He didn’t care.

“No!” Crowe snapped. “Report me to the Guard Captain if you want, but this little shit needs to hear what I have to say. Look at him,” Crowe jabbed a finger at Ignis. When Noctis kept staring into the distance, she gave him a hard shake of his shoulders. “ _Look!_ ”

Noctis looked.

“ _This_ is the consequences of your actions. _This_ is what you risk every time you flaunt our orders, every time you run off like a child, every time you act like a petulant brat! An innocent man almost died because of you. Not because of assassins, not because of whoever sent them, you, _Your Highness._ Elua help me, I want you to memorize every last detail of this little scenario and think long and hard about it.”

He knew. Noctis knew all of this, had already engraved this scene in his memory. How would he ever be able to forget? 

“Crowe, that’s enough.” Cor’s voice was both firmer and farther away to Noctis’s ears.

“Is it?” Crowe asked, fury roiling in her rich brown eyes. “Do you understand, _Your Highness_? Do you understand that you nearly cost a good man his life today for absolutely no reason?”

“Yes,” Noctis said. Blank and empty. Empty of emotion, empty of magic, empty of energy. Full of guilt.

“Good,” Crowe spat, shoving Noctis away. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go make sure no one _else_ is dying for your foolishness.”

“We must return to the Palace, Your Highness,” Cor said as Crowe departed.

“I’m not leaving Ignis.”

“Messire Scientia isn’t—”

“ _I’m not leaving Ignis,”_ Noctis repeated, as though the words were a precept handed down by Elua.

Cor’s lips twitched in what might have been a frown in anyone else. “Then you’re helping carry him back.”

“Fine.”

* * *

Ignis surfaced up from bone deep weariness to see the Queen herself sitting beside him.

Wait, no. That couldn’t be correct. He blinked once, twice, three times, his vision bleary despite multiple attempts to clear it. Queen Aulea remained in his view, blurry though her form might be, and Ignis wondered for a moment if he was dreaming.

“Messire Scientia,” the Queen said, rich and warm, and Ignis knew he wasn’t dreaming.

He shuffled in bed—bed?—and tried to sit bolt upright. A wave of dizziness kept him confined to his bed, though he was still at an angle, the mattress he reclined on far more plush than his own. “Your Majesty.” The words rolled around thickly in his mouth, which felt like several small vermin had died inside it.

“Please, there’s no need to stand on ceremony. How are you feeling?”

Ignis frowned, reaching for his spectacles and finding his face bare. How was he feeling? Why…

Memory flooded him in a rush. The outing. The assassins. His wound. 

Noctis.

“Your Majesty!” Ignis exclaimed with somewhat more vivacity. “Is Noc—His Highness unharmed?”

Queen Aulea’s laugh was a strange mix of amusement tinged with disbelief. “You take a near fatal wound and your first thought is to inquire about my son? Truly, when your recommendations said you took your duties seriously, I never expected this. To answer your question, yes, Noctis is fine.”

Why _did_ Ignis feel so relieved? “I’m pleased to hear it, Your Majesty.”

Queen Aulea gently squeezed Ignis’s hand. “As am I, Ignis. May I call you Ignis?”

“You may call me whatever you wish, Your Majesty,” Ignis replied with a wan smile.

“Ignis, then.” Queen Aulea paused, bold features shifting to a thoughtful expression. “Your chirurgeons informed me they thought it likely you’d wake soon, and I wanted to be here to thank you personally for saving Noctis’s life.”

Despite his exhaustion, Ignis blushed, both from the compliment and from the flare of embarrassment. Summoning his courage, Ignis spoke. “Your Majesty, while I am immensely humbled by your gratitude, I’m afraid I can’t accept it.” 

“Why ever not?” the Queen asked, an eyebrow lifting.

“I should never have agreed to accompany His Highness out of the Palace without his guard. The situation was partly of my own making, and I accept whatever penance you deem fit.”

Aulea’s smile turned slightly mischievous, an echo of the Dauphin’s own. “It would be difficult for me to allow you to accept blame where blame has already been assigned.”

“My apologies?” Ignis asked, confused.

“Noctis explained everything to the Prince Consort, the Guard Captain, and myself. He has already taken full responsibility for the events leading up to the attack and for your injury. In fact, he pleaded with us not to send you away or penalize you in any way.”

What? That… didn’t sound like the Noctis he knew, but a tangled knot in Ignis’s chest unsnarled all the same. “I… I apologize again, Your Majesty, but I find myself at a loss for words.”

“We said much the same, believe me,” Queen Aulea said. “Although that does lead nicely into the next matter I wished to address with you.”

Ignis inclined his head, not trusting his parched throat or weary mind to find an appropriate response.

“Allow me to be forthright. You’ve gone above and beyond your post, Ignis. You saved the life of the Dauphin of Terre d’Ange and, frankly, have lasted longer as a tutor than most have. Once you’ve recovered fully… I’m prepared to release you from your position and offer you full passage back to Tiberium, along with an incredibly generous stipend to assist you on your travel home.”

Ignis’s mind raced with a thousand thoughts at once. He, of course, chose the most uncouth of them to blurt aloud. “Am I being _dismissed_?”

“Blessed Elua, no!” Queen Aulea exclaimed, patting Ignis on the shoulder. “I don’t want you to stay out of any misplaced sense of obligation to the Crown. You’ve done more than enough. However, should you _wish_ to stay…”

Ignis slowly blinked and pinched the bridge of his nose. He… he needed time to think. Acting without thought had saved Noctis, yes, but it had also earned him a trip to death’s doorstep. There were so many nuances to consider: his health, his current duty as Noctis’s tutor, his future plans, his own desires. At the last, Gladiolus’s face swam to mind, and he felt another blush heat his cheeks.

“May I have some time to consider this most generous offer, Your Majesty?”

“Of course, Ignis. Take all the time you require.”

* * *

Noctis’s fist hovered a breath away from the door to Ignis’s chambers.

Naamah’s tits, he was nervous. He forced himself to knock anyway.

“Come in!” Even though it was muffled, Ignis’s crisp Caerdicci accent would be recognizable anywhere. Noctis took a deep breath, turned the brass doorknob, and pushed open the heavy wooden door.

He’d seen Ignis often enough as he recovered, but this was the first time Noctis had visited him after he’d awoken. Ignis sat up in the bed with several thick books propped open on the comforter around him. When he looked up from the spread, his eyes found Noctis’s; his heart skipped several beats in quick succession as Ignis held his gaze.

“Hi,” Noctis said. “Um, if you’d rather not see me, I…”

“No, please. It’s quite alright,” Ignis replied, beckoning Noctis forward. “I haven’t seen another living soul since breakfast. I’d enjoy the company.”

Noctis closed the door behind him, exhaled, inhaled, and crossed the room. A chair was pulled up beside the bed, presumably for visitors, and Noctis beelined straight for it. Once seated, he swallowed his fear and lifted his gaze to Ignis once more.

“How are you feeling?” Noctis asked. He caught himself fiddling with the end of his single braid in a nervous gesture and forced his hands into his lap.

“That seems to be the question of the hour… no, the week. I’m doing much better than I was when I first awoke.” Ignis’s tone was neutral and expression inscrutable.

“I… yes. I guess you must be answering that for everyone, huh? I’m glad to hear you’re recovering well.”

“Thank you, Noctis.”

Silenced sprawled thick and heavy in the air between them. Noctis shuffled his feet against the carpet, flicking his gaze to the floor, the ceiling, and Ignis in succession. He’d practiced what he’d come to say for hours, so best to get on with it.

“I want to formally apologize to you, Ignis Scientia, both as myself and as the Dauphin of Terre d’Ange. My actions were reckless, irresponsible, and nearly cost you your life. Furthemore, my behavior towards you in general has been unbecoming at best and embarrassing at worst. Your skills and knowledge merit far more respect than I’ve given them, and for that I offer my apologies again.” While Noctis’s voice remained steady, his breath left him in a shuddering exhale, his nerves jangling and stomach flip-flopping.

Ignis remained silent for so long Noctis considered leaving now that his apology had been delivered in person. Elua, the man was a master at schooling his emotions. 

He had to be, Noctis guessed, to put up with him for so long.

“Thank you, Noctis,” Ignis said, quiet and soft. “It means a great deal to hear those words from your lips.”

Guilt curled in Noctis’s gut. “You’re welcome. I, uh, don’t expect you to forgive me, and Mother… I mean, the Queen told me about the offer she made you.”

“Ah.” So much subtext loaded into that single syllable, and Ignis’s features remained cool and unreadable as ever.

Noctis sighed. Back to what he had practiced, and this time, the harder part. “In case you take her up on it…” Noctis stood from his chair and bowed, deep and formal, and switched to Caerdicci. “Thank you for saving my life. I’m lucky to have had you as a tutor.” The words were clumsy leaving his lips, and he was pretty sure he might have told Ignis he’s lucky to have had him as a dance instructor, but it was close enough.

“You’re welcome,” Ignis replied, also in Caerdicci, and the shift in his tone made Noctis rise from his bow. Ignis’s verdant eyes were wide and had a softness to them that hadn’t been present scant minutes before. He was the one to break eye contact this time, one corner of his beautiful lips quirking up in a grin. “It’s ‘tutor’.”

Okay, Noctis had definitely messed that part up. “I’ll let you get back to resting. Or…” Noctis waved a hand, “preparing a treatise on D’Angeline politics, or whatever you’re up to.” He turned on his heel and made to exit the room.

“Noctis, a moment.”

He stopped in his tracks and faced Ignis. “Yeah?”

“Would you be so kind as to do me a favor?”

“Sure. Anything.”

“Could you please tell Queen Aulea that I’ll be remaining in my post as tutor and advisor?”

“Really? Naamah’s tits, do you mean it?” Noctis asked. Elua and all of his blessed Companions… he’d been utterly sure Ignis would be on the next ship to Tiberium, Gladiolus or no, as soon as he possibly could.

“There’s the language I’m more used to,” Ignis said, laughing.

Noctis rushed back to Ignis’s bedside. Overcome with joy, he reached down, grabbed both sides of Ignis’s face, and kissed him full on the lips. Ignis made a muffled sound of surprise, but he didn’t pull away, and Noctis considered it two gifts for the price of one. “I’ll go tell her right away. Elua, _thank you_ , Ignis. You won’t be disappointed.”

“I’d better not be,” Ignis said, a dusting of pink gracing those sharp cheekbones.

Emboldened, Noctis stole another kiss, then swept out of the room before Ignis had the chance to change his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all your patience, enthusiasm, love, and WONDERFUL support. Big things are on the horizon...
> 
> See you in two weeks for chapter 15! Thank you again! <3


	15. Total Clarity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gladiolus asks Ignis to visit him at Balm House.

Several weeks had passed, and Ignis’s wounds were completely healed. He went about his duties with his own personal guard now, and the Prince’s security had been tightened as well.

Miraculously, Noctis hadn’t given any outward signs of chafing at the increased measures. He’d complied with the guard rotation, reporting in to Brother Cor any time his routine would be changing to ensure sufficient safety measures could be put into place. Even more startling, Noctis had turned into the type of student a tutor dreamed of teaching seemingly overnight. Alert, interested, studious, and gods… the _brain_ on him when he applied himself.

Ignis tried not to dwell on the memory of that rosebud mouth pressed against his, hot and wet, sweet and electric. But he couldn’t stop the recollection from surfacing at the most inopportune times, such as now.

He’d received a letter from Gladiolus. A simple missive, really, but despite the mundanity of the contents, it had color rising in Ignis’s face and an answering heat unfurling in his gut.

_Come see me tonight. I miss you. -G_

The only problem was, he had accepted Noctis’s invitation to join him for a concert put on by… honestly, the details escaped Ignis, but he recalled enough to know that anyone who was anyone would be there, and tickets had sold out months ago.

For the Dauphin and his guest? There were always seats available.

Wincing, Ignis considered how he might extricate himself from the commitment without causing any offense. Things had been going so well with Noctis since their unfortunate encounter - with attackers whose director still hadn’t been pinned down - that Ignis was loathe to rock the boat.

But… he missed Gladiolus.

They hadn’t seen each other since that night in the royal gardens, a night that was feeling more and more like an enchanted dream than something which had actually occurred.

There was nothing for it but to make his request and hope for the best.

Straightening his tunic as if girding himself for battle, Ignis left his quarters and made his way towards the Dauphin’s chambers. A rap of his knuckles against the polished wood elicited a shouted, “Come in!” The presence of two guards at the doorway gave Ignis the temperance to look past the fact Noctis was granting entry without checking to see who was calling on him.

When he went into the Prince’s apartment, it was dim lit, as usual. Noctis preferred to keep his drapes drawn shut and eschewed electric lighting for candles - which Ignis had begun to be able to light himself, thanks to both Crowe’s tutelage and some helpful pointers from Noctis himself.

“Ignis!” Noctis’s voice was cheerful. He pushed to his feet as Ignis entered his salon. “You’re early; we don’t have to leave for another hour.” Eyeing him from head to toe, and back again - ah, now, _there_ was a hint of the old Noctis in the way those sapphire eyes caressed over every inch of Ignis’s body - Noctis nodded. “You look good.”

As his charge's voice sounded honest rather than flirtatious, Ignis took the compliment for what it was. “Thank you, High— _Noctis_.” He cleared his throat, and sighed inwardly when the nervous tell got the Dauphin’s attention. Noctis stepped even closer, standing near enough that Ignis could feel the gentle puff of breath escaping from the indolent grin on his aristocratic features.

“Ig-nis,” Noctis drawled out his name, eyes falling shut as if to savor the sensation of speaking it. The way ebony eyelashes brushed over the ivory of his skin reminded Ignis of nothing so much as paintbrushes being plied against a blank canvas. And truly, he didn’t know what mood might be painted in that twilight gaze once Noctis’s eyes opened again, but Ignis found himself holding his breath as he awaited the unveiling.

He was still caught unaware by the brilliance of that cerulean stare when it pinned him in place as surely as if a pair of guardsmen restrained him. It was sharp, unrelenting, _knowing_.

“You don’t want to to go the concert with me, do you?” Noctis asked, his voice airy and dismissive, though Ignis wasn’t foolish enough to be lulled by the casual mien.

“It’s not that I don’t want to spend time with you,” Ignis found himself speaking in a rush, words stammered out inelegantly in his haste to reassure his student. “It’s just that I’ve received another invitation tonight, and…”

Indolence was eclipsed by canniness; if Ignis had thought that look knowing before, it was keenly insightful now. Indeed, he hadn’t felt so completely undone by a glance since he stood for his verbal exams with the Maesters in Tiberium.

“Where will you be going, then?” Noctis asked innocently, his vocal tone a stark contrast to the sardonic smirk twisting the corners of that damnably unforgettable mouth.

“It’s personal,” Ignis replied stiffly, lifting his chin and trying to ignore the way heat seared along his face and neck.

Noctis scoffed. “Ignis, Ignis,” he tutted, waggling a finger in remonstrance. “Far be it for me to pry into your private affairs,” the light scintillating in his catlike gaze told the truth behind the lie, “but I need to know so I can advise Brother Cor and Captain Trevalion. They can arrange your transport and bodyguard.”

Ignis blinked. That hadn’t even occurred to him despite praising Noctis in his thoughts for his adherence to those strictures moments before. “Right.” He took a deep breath and, if it were possible, his posture became even more poised. “Balm House.”

To Noctis’s credit, his only outward reaction was a sharp inhalation coupled with a self-satisfied smile. The taunting words Ignis had expected never came, and he started to think perhaps Queen Aulea’s wish for a friendship wasn’t so far-fetched after all.

“When will you be leaving?” Noctis asked briskly, walking towards his door with a peremptory gesture for Ignis to follow.

“As soon as the escort is arranged,” Ignis replied smoothly, heeling the Dauphin as he moved into the corridor.

Noctis stopped so abruptly that Ignis would have bowled into him had he not had extremely fast reflexes. As it was, he caught himself with a hand on Noctis’s shoulder, pressing against it to stop his forward momentum.

The Dauphin reached out and lay a hand on Ignis’s shoulder in a mirroring motion, but where Ignis was seeking balance, Noctis squeezed his tutor’s shoulder in a way Ignis could only term… affectionate.

“I hope you have a good night, Ignis,” Noctis said, sincerity shining in his eyes. The moment of solemnity passed quickly, a gleeful grin canting thin lips a moment before that mouth brushed over Ignis’s. Noctis turned away without another word, continuing the long walk from his rooms to the Captain’s office.

Ignis ghosted fingertips over his tingling lips and _wondered._

* * *

Before Ignis could step into the House Courcel carriage Noctis had graciously put at his disposal, a soft hand brushed his shoulder. He turned, unalarmed - after all, had it been a threat to his person, either Crowe or Libertus, the guards he’d been assigned, would have already leapt into action.

He saw a gorgeous, ethereal woman standing behind him and he turned to face her directly. She had hip-length black hair that fell straight and heavy like an obsidian waterfall. Her gown was sumptuous in an orange and red brocade that reminded him of poppies. Strangely, her eyes were closed, though the way the corners of her mouth quirked in an infinitesimal smile at his scrutiny implied she was somehow aware of his regard.

“Ignis Scientia,” she said softly, her voice holding an odd accent he couldn’t place. It’s timbre was melodic, and even though all she’d said was his name, every syllable was steeped in mystery.

Ignis glanced to his side and saw both his friend and her fellow guard had fallen into deep bows. Whoever this was, she was due some measure of respect. He bowed at the same depth he’d offered the Dowayne of Cereus House at that ill-fated Showing, not quite as deeply as he’d bow for Queen Aulea, but a hair more than he’d use to honor the Prince.

“You have me at a disadvantage, my Lady,” he said smoothly once he’d risen. Though her smile broadened at his pertness, her eyes remained closed.

“I speak for Naamah,” the woman said, her words dreamy yet evenly spaced. “And betimes others.” She bowed to him, and Ignis noted with surprise she afforded him far more depth than he’d come to expect from D’Angeline peerage, most of whom seemed to only offer this ‘outlander’ any courtesy at all due to the Dauphin’s prescence.

“You may call me Gentiana.” Her head canted to one side, birdlike, as if listening to something only she could hear.

“Very well,” Ignis said guardedly. “May I ask what you need of me, my La—Gentiana?”

“I come bearing a message for you, scholar.”

Ignis folded his arms across his chest and waited. It was so still and silent in the courtyard he fancied he could hear the thrum of his own heart nervously racing as he wondered what words this odd woman might be carrying for him, and at whose behest.

“You have done well to learn our ways, to honor our gods,” she began. “But the beginning comes to an end. New challenges rise with the dawn. Danger approaches with the turn of the wheel.” She slowly waved one hand in front of her in a circular motion. “When the wheat is burnished, beware. When the moon blinds, beware. When the promise is made, beware.”

“What do you mean?” Ignis asked in frustration. She spoke in riddles. What danger? Burnished wheat? Promises?

“Danger shines like fine sterling,” Gentiana whispered, her eyes snapping open and meeting his.

Ignis shivered, unable to look away from that soul-piercing gaze.

“Surround yourself with a garden,” she advised, her eyes falling shut as she lifted her chin, uplifting her fair face towards the sunlight which, at the height of summer, lingered into the evening hours. She held the pose and it seemed the world held its breath; when she turned and began to stride away, Ignis inhaled sharply.

Before he could call out to her, Crowe touched his bicep. “Let her go,” she said. “The Priestess honored you with speaking prophecy - she _sought you out_ \- don’t ask more of her. Not today.”

“All right,” Ignis agreed reluctantly, brows pinched in thought.

“Besides, don’t you have an appointment to keep?” Crowe jibed, elbowing him in the side lightly.

“That I do,” Ignis said with more confidence. He’d put the strange woman - priestess? - out of his thoughts.

Tonight was about Gladiolus.

Tonight was about love.

* * *

Gladiolus found himself unaccountably nervous. Elua, he needed to pull it together. He was experienced, he was skilled, he was trained. He’d worked with more men and women than he could count, helping some through trauma, helping others discover themselves, offering solace and soothing to all.

But nothing had prepared him for Ignis.

Gladiolus had scheduled no assignations this day. He’d slept in, taken a leisurely bath, eaten a light repast. And then he sought out the house shrine, spending a few hours with Naamah.

He had never expected the reserved Caerdicci to perform the _languisement_ in the royal gardens. But then, he’d never expected Ignis to go so far beyond those delectable little kisses. And Gladiolus had been okay with that. He’d never push anyone beyond their comfort zone; half-Cruithne he might be, but his mother’s people were no more forgiving of rape than his father’s.

They hadn’t seen each other since that night, and Gladiolus wasn’t surprised. He knew Ignis was a busy man, and Gladiolus wasn’t exactly sitting idle himself. Then he heard the news a fortnight past about the attack, and it took every shred of willpower he possessed - and a surprisingly stern talking-to from Prompto at the Nightengale - to keep him from rushing to the Palace and demanding to see Ignis. Gladiolus tried to be as patient as Eisheth herself, but today, something told him… the time for waiting was over.

So he sent his letter, and he _waited_.

Would Ignis come? Elua’s balls, it was entirely likely he already had plans. Working at the Palace, for the royal family, meant a plethora of events and obligations. Gladiolus should have sent asking what day might work for Ignis… that is, if Ignis wasn’t regretting the garden interlude, if he even _wanted_ to see Gladiolus again.

A timid knock at his door pulled Gladiolus from his reverie. Crossing the room, he opened it to find a meek serving lad standing there with head bowed.

“There’s a guest for you, Adept,” the boy stammered, blushing. “He’s waiting in the guest salon.”

“Did he give a name?” Gladiolus reached out and gently lifted the youth’s chin. He’d have no one lowering their eyes to him, shit; he was just a man, and he’d rather face people head-on than have either side hide behind conventional obeisance.

“Messire Scientia.”

Gladiolus’s heart pounded like thunder and his breath hitched in his throat.

After clearing it, he nodded. “Thanks. I’ll go see him in a moment.”

Stepping back inside his chamber, he glanced around. It was neat enough, he decided. He’d never made his bed that morning, but everything else was in the same tidy state he preferred.  
There was no reason to delay, so Gladiolus left his room and headed down the corridor towards Balm House’s entryway. He turned off before reaching the foyer, grateful that Ignis had at least been shown to a quieter area to wait. When Gladiolus entered the salon, Ignis was, in fact, the only one seated therein. He felt blood rise to his face, grateful that between his tattoos and his sun-bronzed skin, he didn’t show blushes easily.

“Ignis,” Gladiolus said, smiling at him warmly. “It’s good to see you.”

Ignis stood. “Gladiolus.” His answering smile was blinding.

Naamah’s bountiful tits, how was it that his name shaped by that Caerdicci accent, all sharp consonants and soft vowels, sounded like poetry? Like prayer?

“Sorry for the short notice.” He tapped his fingertips against the outer side of his thighs. His entire body hummed with nervous energy commingled with a building desire he had no wish to tamp down.

But he would, if Ignis said the word.

“It’s quite all right,” Ignis replied, walking closer. He brushed his lips over Gladiolus’s cheek where the scar lanced down from his eye. “Perhaps we could speak in your quarters?”

“Follow me.”

They walked in companionable silence, hands brushing against each other every few steps as if by accident. It was by design, as was every touch given by a Servant of Naamah, no matter how small or inconsequential they might seem. Gladiolus reveled in those brief touches, the electricity that coursed from his fingers to his heart with each jolt of fingertips against his own calloused hand.

The door had barely shut behind them and Ignis was pressed against him, pushing Gladiolus back against it. Gladiolus took advantage of the positioning to slam the locking bolt into place as Ignis’s lips moved against his far more confidently than ever before. When they broke away, gasping for breath, Gladiolus rumbled a low chuckle.

“Guess you missed me too,” he teased good-naturedly.

“Indeed,” Ignis said serenely before diving back in for more.

Gladiolus carefully steered them deeper into his chamber while their tongues danced, moving past the bookshelf and around the chairs. When they stood beside his bed, his surety faltered, and he pulled away from Ignis reluctantly.

His love wore a wicked smirk so far gone from his usual timid smiles that Gladiolus felt his cock stir beneath his clothing. He stared in unabashed wonder as Ignis removed his tunic and kicked off his shoes.

“You’re overdressed,” Ignis proclaimed in that lilting accent before undoing the closure of his trousers and letting them pool around his ankles, leaving his entire pale, lithe form completely bare to Gladiolus’s eyes.

_Gods, he’s so beautiful._

“Right,” he muttered roughly, shucking off his own clothing without a thought, tossing it into a pile far enough away they wouldn’t trip over it. And then Gladiolus simply stood there, letting Ignis look his fill.

And, oh, he did. Gladiolus was an experienced Adept of the Night Court. He’d earned his marque; he’d served for years. But never had he felt so thoroughly scrutinized as in that moment. Ignis’s verdant gaze caressed each line of woad, every wrinkle around his eyes. It lingered on the line of hair leading from his stomach to his prodigious length; it swept from his calves to his shoulders with equal interest.

“Gladiolus,” Ignis sighed, stepping forward until their bodies were pressed together from chest to groin.

“Ignis,” Gladiolus breathed, fighting for control as Ignis’s cock slid against his.

“Take me to bed,” Ignis whispered, nipping at Gladiolus’s earlobe before drawing back and again taking the Balm Adept’s mouth in a searing kiss. One kiss turned into two, two turned into a score.

“Are you sure?” Gladiolus asked as they broke away for air. His heart thundered in his chest and his blood sang in his veins, but the Bright Lady’s blessing wasn’t enough - he had to ask one last time, had to give Ignis an out just in case on some level he desired it.

“I don’t think I’ve been so certain of aught else my entire life,” Ignis admitted before leaning up to reclaim Gladiolus’s lips.

Gladiolus felt a fluttering like dove’s wings deep in his core. Elua, this was really happening. Naamah grant he didn’t muck it up.

He wrapped woad-marked arms around Ignis and held him tightly, content to just bask in the moment, to enjoy the increasingly passionate kisses. Tonight, he’d let Ignis set the pace, using every bit of his expertise to help guide Ignis in learning just how many different ways there were to love.

Gently, he eased Ignis onto the bed, waiting for him to climb fully upon it before joining him. To his delight, Ignis kept his glasses on. Gladiolus wanted him to be able to watch what he wished with total clarity of vision. After Ignis stretched himself out on the bed, Gladiolus lay beside him on his side, balancing on an elbow and looking down at his lover - his lover in truth, tonight - fondly.

“Tell me what you’d like, _agra_ ,” Gladiolus said.

“I… I scarcely know,” Ignis laughed self-consciously.

“Well, you’ve had experiences before. And then there was that night in the garden.” Gladiolus’s grin was broad and pleased as he relived the memory.

“Must we speak?” Ignis’s voice was tight - with nerves or longing, Gladiolus couldn’t say. “Can’t we just love each other?”

“Of course we can,” Gladiolus murmured in response to Ignis’s impassioned plea. “Just tell me if you need me to slow down.”

“I’m not spun glass,” Ignis insisted, quirking one immaculate eyebrow sardonically.

And then he pounced.

He fell onto Gladiolus like a man possessed, hands and lips and teeth roving eagerly. Gladiolus allowed himself to be pushed back against the pillows and let Ignis explore as he wished. Clearly the scholar had gotten his hands on books beyond history and politics - Gladiolus recognized a few of these moves from the _Trois Milles Joies_.

“Ignis,” he groaned when nimble fingers closed around his engorged cock, pumping firmly. “Let me touch you, too. Let me show you how good this can be.” Gladiolus was aware he was begging - he didn’t care. Modesty had no place in the bedchamber, not when it came to speaking your desires.

“Let me do this for you,” Ignis implored him before pressing a soft kiss to his abdomen. “You can return the favor,” another kiss, this one on his pectoral an inch away from the woad lines forming the bird’s head, “ _later_.” Those lips enclosed the head of Gladiolus’s cock, sucking lightly as his fingers continued to slide along the thick length of it.

Gladiolus decided that sounded fair enough. He laid back and enjoyed the attention of this arousingly confident Ignis. He’d not expected - but had hoped for - a continuation of that magical night at the Palace gardens, but this was exceeding all his dreams.

He lay a palm at the crown of Ignis’s head, not applying pressure but just for the sake of touching. As Ignis slowly took more of Gladiolus’s cock into his mouth, Gladiolus’s eyes rolled back in his head.

“You keep doin’ that… I’m not gonna last for long.”

Ignis slanted a heated look up along the length of Gladiolus’s body that had his toes curling in response. Naamah, those eyes; they glittered like emeralds, but held so much more vivacity than even the most brilliantly cut gemstone.

Gladiolus felt Ignis’s hand fall away from his dick and rest on his upper thigh; even with only Ignis’s lips and tongue plying against his intimate flesh, it was overwhelming in all the best of ways. Before he knew it, he was spending down Ignis’s throat, a guttural cry in Cruithne sounding on his lips.

Ignis continued to suckle at his softening cock a bit longer, then lifted his head and smiled. “Good?”

“ _Gods_ yes.”

“Can we do more?” Ah, there was that shyness coming back to haunt that lovely voice.

“What did you have in mind?” Gladiolus leaned up and grasped Ignis’s shoulders, tugging him to lay down beside him again.

“I want…” Ignis bit his lip, worrying it in between his teeth as he stared wide-eyed at Gladiolus.

“I’m gonna need you to be clear, _agra_ ,” Gladiolus said gently.

His face flaming like a thousand candles, Ignis cleared his throat. “I want to make love with you.” His blush intensified. “To you.”

“Oh,” Gladiolus smiled indolently, sliding a hand along Ignis’s spine in an unconscious, soothing caress. “Is that all?”

“It’s quite enough from where I’m sitting,” Ignis replied, voice tight and eyes looking anywhere but at Gladiolus.

“You ain’t sitting,” Gladiolus bantered playfully. “Ignis, that sounds wonderful. But I’m guessing you’ve never done that before? With a man?”

“Correct,” Ignis responded succinctly. “Nor have I penetrated a woman… _there_.”

Gladiolus nodded. “Little bit of prep before we can launch into the main event. Why don’t you just relax and watch?” His gentle smile edged closer to a debauched grin. “Next time you’ll know what to do.”

Sliding off the bed, Gladiolus went to a cabinet and withdrew a small pot of oil. When he returned to the bed, he met Ignis’s quizzical look with a wink. “Men don’t lubricate naturally the way women do.”

Ignis blinked owlishly. “Of course.”

Gladiolus lay on his back, drawing his knees up and planting his feet on the mattress. After coating one finger with the lubricant, he began to tease it against his hole, eyes of molten gold staying honed to Ignis’s seafoam visage the entire time. “It’s important to prepare your lover thoroughly, or it can really hurt.”

With a frown, Ignis reached down to grasp the hand Gladiolus had between his thighs. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t. Not after I get ready.” Gladiolus added a second finger, grunting at the intrusion as his body grew accustomed to the sensation.

“And that… feels good?” Ignis asked concernedly.

“Oh yes,” Gladiolus assured him. “When it’s done right?” He curled his fingers, brushing the tips against that bundle of nerves within, and he saw stars. “It’s amazing.”

Ignis seemed content to stop asking questions and watch. Gladiolus didn’t mind; it was hardly the first time he’d put on a show of this nature.

But he wanted more.

“C’mere,” he said. “Kiss me.”

He slid a third finger inside himself while Ignis kissed him sweetly. Gladiolus moaned into Ignis’s mouth, delighting in the way Ignis’s body shivered against his from the sensation. Breaking away, he rasped, “I’m as ready as I’m gonna get.”

Ignis smiled and kissed him again, lingeringly, than shifted down the bed to kneel between Gladiolus’s legs. His cock hung full and heavy between his legs; Gladiolus licked his lips seeing the precome beading at its tip. Naamah, he wanted to taste, to drink Ignis down - but not now. This was about Ignis, about his lover coming to terms with being his lover, with loving a man - fully and completely.

Besides, Gladiolus was usually the one doing the fucking. This would be a welcome treat.

“You’ll… tell me if I hurt you?” Ignis asked, locking eyes with Gladiolus.

“I will. But you won’t.”

Gladiolus’s eyelids fluttered when he felt the push of Ignis’s cockhead against his hole, and his vision blurred once the other man pushed the tip inside. “ _Gods_ , yes, Ignis. More. I can take it. I _want_ to take it.”

Ignis’s face was screwed tight in concentration, those eyes closed and hidden from Gladiolus’s sight, as he slid himself with glacial slowness within the hot tightness of Gladiolus’s body. Once he was fully sheathed inside, Ignis took a deep breath, reforming eye contact.

Gladiolus could see the sweat shining on Ignis’s brow. He wanted to lick it away, but couldn’t reach. “How does it feel?”

“ _Wonderful_ ,” Ignis gasped the word, and then he began to move his hips.

No words were spoken, but so much was communicated with every gasping breath, with every brush of fingers. Gladiolus rest one massive hand on the dip of Ignis’s waist, bringing the other to his length and stroking in time with their thrusts. He suspected Ignis wouldn’t last long, but that was alright.

They had all night.

“Y-you?” Ignis ground out between clenched teeth.

“Feels fantastic,” Gladiolus grinned up at him, arching his hips off the bed to push closer, deeper.

“I’m… not gonna…” Ignis’s staccato words trailed off into a liquid, keening moan.

Gladiolus had never heard Ignis’s speech fall into informal colloquialisms before. It was damned arousing. “Do it,” he murmured encouragement. Pressing his palms flat to the mattress, he leaned up and brushed a tender kiss over Ignis’s lips. “Let yourself go.” Sealing his mouth over Ignis’s, Gladiolus swallowed his moans when he spilled over the precipice.

Ignis whispered in Caerdicci, slumping forward to lean against Gladiolus’s chest. Gladiolus was pleased that he understood some of it - his studies were paying off. ‘I love you’, Ignis had said, bookended by words that Gladiolus assumed were sweet nothings. He lowered them both backwards until his back pressed to the bed, wrapping an arm around Ignis’s waist and savoring the moment.

“I feel the same,” Ignis’s words were tinged with nascent laughter. “I expected to feel different after such a… _new_ experience, but I still feel the same way I always feel… when I’m with you.”

Gladiolus smiled, pressing his lips to the side of Ignis’s neck. “It’s a good feeling, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Ignis echoed breathily. “I need to…” He started to pull out, and Gladiolus understood immediately.

They untangled and lay side by side. Normally this is when Gladiolus would rise, gather towels and water, clean his partner up and send them on their way, unless they were contracted for more. He reveled in laying there, sticky with sweat and oil, able to feel Ignis’s seed leaking from his ass. It drove home that this was no assignation - this was personal. This was real.

He did force himself out of the bed long enough to get a wet, soapy cloth. After cleaning Ignis’s cock - and noticing with interest how it twitched beneath his fingers, despite the fact Ignis had only just spent himself moments before - Gladiolus climbed back into bed, laying down next to this lover.

Skimming his fingertips from Ignis’s breastbone to his navel, Gladiolus frowned when they played over a scar on his abdomen. It was still red, the virulent color denoting how new it was, and Ignis winced when Gladiolus touched it.

“Sorry.”

“It’s all right,” Ignis said. “It’s a little tender still, but healing well. I was released to full activity a week ago.” Even after what they’d just done, color rose charmingly along those high cheekbones. “My chirurgeon was quite… explicit… in how ‘active’ I could be.”

An appreciative chuckle rumbled in Gladiolus’s chest. “Well, I _am_ something of a healer. Maybe I should do a check up.” He waggled his thick eyebrows, grinning when Ignis laughed.

Rolling on his side, Gladiolus propped himself up on an elbow and looked down at Ignis. His other hand still drew idle patterns across the planes of Ignis’s body, tracing over the sharp angle of his hip bone, sliding upwards along his lithe frame to press against Ignis’s lips in a mock-kiss. “You’re truly alright now?”

“I am.” Those verdant eyes were solemn. “Noctis saved me.” He rasped a bitter chuckle. “I was supposed to save him, but he saved me.” Self-deprecation wrapped around the nude man like a cloak; Gladiolus strove to see past it.

“You’re both alive. Isn’t that what matters? Besides, I doubt you got this wound hanging off to the side and lettin’ the Dauphin do all the work.”

“You’re right,” Ignis’s voice was like the clouds speckling the summer sky at midday: soft, but heavy with the promise of rain. “But he could have been hurt.” Ignis sat up, and turned to face Gladiolus, who had mirrored his motion. “He could have been _killed_.” Inhaling sharply, Ignis admitted, “ _I_ could have been killed.”

_So that’s the way of it._ Gladiolus smiled compassionately and filed his insight away for later. He would let Ignis say what he needed to say, help him be free of the pain of it, and that would be enough.

He was a Balm Adept.

“He wasn’t,” Gladiolus reassured Ignis, rubbing one large hand over the line of his spine. “He’s fine. You’re fine.” Gladiolus kissed Ignis’s forehead as the tutor’s tears began to trickle down alabaster cheeks; when those clouds grew too full, the rain must fall.

He held Ignis patiently while he cried, knowing there was healing in it.

When Ignis’s lips clove unto his amidst the tears, Gladiolus understood and returned the kiss lovingly, lifting his hands to brush away the dampness from Ignis’s face before sliding his fingers into the softness of ash-blonde hair.

After they broke apart, Gladiolus nuzzled his cheek against his lover’s, whispering in his ear, “Let me love you this time.” His lips brushed against Ignis’s earlobe deliberately; Gladiolus felt the shiver course through Ignis’s body where their chests were pressed together. “Let me take care of you.”

“Yes,” Ignis agreed, one palm coming to rest against Gladiolus’s cheek with gentleness. “Love me.”

Gladiolus lay Ignis back against the plush pillows with a smile, enjoying the way the forest green of his coverlet caused Ignis’s gemstone eyes to look darker, more true green than aqua, akin to high summer foliage rather than the verdant freshness of new spring. He pressed his lips above each eye, then trailed open-mouthed kisses down Ignis’s cheek until he could claim his lips in a proper kiss.

“I love you,” Gladiolus said in Cruithne, and his eyes crinkled in a smile when Ignis responded in Caerdicci.

He nibbled lightly at Ignis’s jawline and down his neck, spending some time tasting his lover’s clavicle as he’d so longed to do at their first meeting. He licked over the sharp lines of his collarbones, tasting the salt of his sweat. Gladiolus rumbled approvingly - nothing wrong with a good, clean sweat, and Naamah knew they’d both be working up a fresh one soon.

Ignis’s hands curled in Gladiolus’s hair, and Gladiolus leaned into the caress before continuing his exploration. He trailed kisses down Ignis’s chest, then turned his head, pressing his ear to his breast and listening to his racing heart. It sang a duet with Gladiolus’s own, which was increasing in tempo with every sweep of tongue against creamy skin. He sucked one of Ignis’s nipples into his mouth and winced when the hands in his hair jerked in surprise. Reaching up, he entwined his fingers with Ignis’s and pulled his hands aside.

When Ignis looked at him questioningly, the corner of Gladiolus’s mouth tugged up in a half smile. “Not so rough, yeah?”

“Apologies,” Ignis said. “I’m a bit… overwhelmed.”

_Good. You should be._ Gladiolus dove back in, meticulously following the sculpted lines of Ignis’s abs, diverting himself to his right hip to suck a pink mark in the skin covering his hip bone.

Gladiolus lay his head on Ignis’s muscular thigh, looking up along his body and discovering to his delight that Ignis’s head was thrown back, his mouth hanging open as if he were having difficulties breathing. As Gladiolus watched, he saw Ignis’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed, hard, and a low chuckle rumbled low in his own throat.

Raising his head, Gladiolus planted a messy, open-mouthed kiss against Ignis’s inner thigh, but decided to indulge himself and skip past the rest of his legs in favor of something he’d wanted to reciprocate since the night at the Palace gardens.

He nuzzled his cheek against Ignis’s length before flicking his tongue against the frenulum. Ignis’s groan spurred him on, and Gladiolus discarded his typical slow, methodical approach to _languisement_ in favor of something more organic; artistry had a time and place, but he wanted to taste Ignis too badly to dally. Gladiolus took him in farther, laving his tongue against the vein running along the underside of Ignis’s cock. He felt the bed linens shift beneath him and a sidelong glance showed him the cause - Ignis’s hands had fisted in them so tightly his knuckles were white.

Gladiolus indulged himself by pressing forward until the tip of Ignis’s dick nudged the back of his mouth. His gag reflex had been trained away years ago, so he was free to suck on Ignis’s entire length and please them both. Salty bursts of precome dripped into his mouth and Gladiolus thanked Naamah for the opportunity to enjoy the slightly bitter taste of it. Cheeks hollowing with the effort, Gladiolus continued to work his mouth over Ignis’s cock, taking cues from the rate of Ignis’s gasping breaths to increase his speed.

Deciding to take a gamble, Gladiolus brought a hand around and pressed the tip of his index finger against Ignis’s entrance. His lover fairly leapt beneath him at the contact, and Gladiolus pulled back both finger and mouth, leaning up until he could make eye contact.

“Is that okay?”

“Yes. You just caught me off guard.”

Gladiolus smirked wickedly, eyes of molten amber dancing in delight. “More people should.” Snagging the small container of oil, he coated his hand liberally before sliding back down and greedily sucking Ignis’s dick back into his mouth. This time when Gladiolus pushed his finger past that tight ring of muscle, Ignis shuddered, but didn’t pull away.

Removing his mouth from Ignis’s engorged length with an audible wet sound, Gladiolus licked his way down over his sac until he could tease his tongue against Ignis’s entrance. His finger continued to press forward until it was sheathed past his second knuckle.

“G-Gladio—” Ignis’s voice was broken, barely managing half his lover’s name. “I won’t last if you keep doing that.”

“And again I say: let go. This isn’t a contest, Ignis,” Gladiolus’s voice was fond, “it’s about feeling good.”

Adding a second finger caused Ignis to emit the most wonderful, strangled sound Gladiolus had heard in months. He fucked Ignis on his hand gently, alternately licking at the edge of his hole and the underside of his dick.

Gladiolus could feel the tense clench of Ignis’s thighs beneath his woad-marked arms and knew he hadn’t been lying - Ignis was close again, so soon. Stranger things than a short refractory period were possible with Naamah’s blessing, he figured. Wanting to drink down Ignis’s pleasure, Gladiolus took him back into his mouth, his own eyes rolling back at the way Ignis’s shaft pulsed and throbbed between his lips. He focused on keeping his hand steady, penetrating with an even cadence and not getting too rough - but, Elua’s balls it was hard when Ignis started to grind his hips down towards Gladiolus’s touch.

With a shout in a language that sounded similar to D’Angeline - Aragonian perhaps? - Ignis came, filling Gladiolus’s mouth with his salty, acrid release. Gladiolus swallowed it all, licking delicately across the head of Ignis’s cock to collect every little trace as he eased his fingers out of the tightness of Ignis’s ass.

Laying beside him once more, Gladiolus stared unabashed at Ignis, wanting to commit every detail to memory: the bead of sweat rolling from his temple and falling to land on the dark green sheets beneath their backs, the rapid rise and fall of his chiseled chest as he caught his breath, the red, blotchy flush suffusing his fine-boned features.

And those eyes.

‘Green’ wasn’t enough, but shit, Prompto was the artist, and Gladiolus had no idea what to call the rich color. His pupils were still blown from the intensity of the love-making, causing the irises to look darker than usual.

They were filled with so much love, so much feeling. Gladiolus again felt that flutter, imagined he heard the sound of a dove’s wings beating at the air of his chambers, and when his own passionate eyes fell drowsily closed, he felt nothing but content in the moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for reading. The love and support we've received and continue to receive for this story is so very near and dear to our hearts. <3
> 
> We hope to see you again in two weeks (August 4) for chapter 16!


	16. Callings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Noctis and Prompto spend time together, Prompto joins Gladiolus at the Violet Nightingale.

Noctis Lucis de la Courcel, Dauphin of Terre d’Ange and frequent patron of the Night Court, had no call to be nervous about Prompto’s visit this evening. After all, he was the one who invited Prompto, who insisted on courting him properly and not trading ducats for the privilege of his attentions. Somewhere deep inside the recesses of his mind, Noctis still couldn’t quite believe that Prompto agreed to come see him, that he wanted to share his company without contracts and time limits and a bulging coin purse at the end.

But as he paced in circles around the middle of his bedchamber, he found his nerves jingling like a multitude of tiny bells all over his body. Noctis couldn’t dispense with the sense of unease that clung to him like a shroud. He had bathed, eaten, and dressed, along with all the other tasks he could have done to prepare; in spite of the preparation, apprehension rolled over him in strong waves each moment his thoughts fell still. Worst of all, he couldn’t discern the reason.

Ignis’s lingering presence didn’t help.

“If you’re mentally preparing a lecture about wasting a day of tutoring, I’m sorry to say it’s going to fall on deaf ears,” Noctis quipped, throwing himself into his favourite armchair with a grandiose wave of his hand. “Or maybe I’m _not_ sorry to say,” he added with a catlike grin.

Ignis paused from gathering his books and scattered sheets of parchment from the desk in Noctis’s study, his verdant gaze curious and owlish in turns. “I believe at this point I know better than to force the issue with you, Highness.” With a quick twist of his lips, Ignis realized his error. “Noctis.”

Underneath the nerves and the apprehension, Noctis’s heart fluttered erratically for a handful of moments before settling back to a normal pace. “ _You remembered_ ,” he said quietly in Caerdicci—yesterday’s lesson included the verb ‘to remember’, and the practice wouldn’t hurt.

“Should I ever make the mistake of addressing you informally in front of a Peer of the Realm, I will be placing the blame _squarely_ on your shoulders, Noctis,” Ignis said with a raised eyebrow, tucking his lesson materials underneath an arm and lifting his chin.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Noctis drawled, exaggerating the scandalized lilt to his words.

“I think you’ll find I would dare quite more things than you’d suspect. Though I suppose,” Ignis took a few steps towards the exit of Noctis’s chambers, “I enjoy when people underestimate me. It can prove rather advantageous.”

Nothing in Ignis’s clipped, Caerdicci-accented tone suggested anything but the most academic of meaning, but Noctis had been around his tutor and advisor long enough to know…

 _Elua’s hairy balls,_ was Ignis _flirting_?

Noctis affected a yawn as he stretched his arms over his head. “If that’s some lesson from one of your scholarly texts, I must have skimmed it.”

“Merely a personal observation,” Ignis replied, pushing his spectacles up the bridge of his aquiline nose. “We’ll resume our session tomorrow.”

“What are your plans for the rest of the day?” Noctis blurted the question out before he could stop the words from leaving his lips.

“Another advantage of my position and my comparative social obscurity…” Ignis said, sparing Noctis a glance over one broad shoulder, “is that I can conduct my affairs in relative privacy. Good afternoon.”

After Ignis left his bedroom, Noctis made a sincere effort to push the exchange from his thoughts. Sinking further into the plush fabric of his armchair, he summoned a bud of flame, weaving it in between his fingers in a deft display of dexterity as he awaited the arrival of one Prompto nó Eglantine.

* * *

A sharp rap on the door to his quarters roused Noctis from the sweet embrace of sleep.

With a muffled groan, Noctis blinked, peering about the room as he tried to piece together the scene with a foggy mind. Ignis had left, and he had sat in the armchair to wait for Prompto, and…

Naamah’s tits, he’d fallen asleep right in the chair, lulled by the warmth of his room and the comfort of his perch. 

“Your Highness! Any day now!” Crowe yelled from the other side of the door, the sound muted by the thick wood.

“Coming!” Noctis called back groggily, voice thick as he continued to shake off the sluggishness of sleep. Elua, he hadn’t meant to sleep all the way until the scheduled time. With no time to brush his teeth _or_ hair, Noctis cupped his palm over his mouth and huffed out a quick breath to check it—still tolerable, praise Elua and all his Companions. The rest of his appearance would have to do, rumpled though it may be.

Noctis crossed the room and unlocked the several elaborate locks on the inner door of his chamber, some of them freshly installed after the attempt on his life in Elua’s Square. Once he opened the door, he found a bristling Crowe and a beaming Prompto waiting outside it.

Blessedly, Crowe didn’t launch into a tirade about manners and merely waved Prompto towards the open door.

“Thanks, Crowe,” Noctis said sheepishly, prompting only a disgruntled noise from Crowe with no further acknowledgement.

After he and Prompto were safely inside his room with the door shut and locked behind them, Prompto’s grin became dazzling. “There are, like, a _lot_ more guards than the last time I was here. I guess they really take that whole assassination thing seriously, huh?”

“Guess so,” Noctis agreed, distracted by having Prompto in such close proximity to him after weeks apart. The golden hair, the violet eyes, the dusting of freckles across his cheeks, the winning smile… all of it combined to ease the apprehension that had been plaguing him since he’d woke that morning. “I’m sorry we couldn’t see each other sooner. I only just got permission to leave the Palace and receive visitors recently,” he added, eyes cutting to the side before returning to Prompto’s.

Prompto’s grin turned a shade mischievous. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to Noctis’s in the kiss of greeting, a kiss which quickly turned from greeting to _more_ as Prompto threaded his fingers through the curtain of Noctis’s unbound hair. “That’s alright. Unlike G… unlike some people I know, I’m good at being patient. At waiting.”

“Is that right?” Noctis asked, stealing another kiss from Prompto, stoking the embers of desire to a more vigorous flame. “I can see it now. Pining in your quarters at House Eglantine, withering for want of a missive from your absent prince…”

Prompto laughed and rolled his eyes, but made no move to extricate himself from Noctis’s embrace, the taut lines of his body pressed firmly against Noctis’s own. “I’ll have you know I’ve been _super_ busy. Insanely.” Prompto’s violent eyes went dark for a moment before he continued, “which was good, because I was also worried. The attack was all the other adepts could talk about, and… well, you know. I like you alive.”

“I like me alive too. And I am alive… mostly thanks to Ignis,” Noctis admitted, fingers tightening reflexively where they rested on Prompto’s waist.

“Yeah. Everyone’s talking about that, too,” Prompto said, a soft smile gracing his bright features. “How is Ignis doing?”

“Fine. Up and about and back to harassing me about my studies every chance he gets,” Noctis answered. His lips find Prompto’s again, meeting in a sweet and sure kiss, his nerves quieting each time the cinnamon and honey taste of Prompto floods his senses. “How exactly have you been staying busy?” Noctis asked, the world rolling out of him in a rich, tenor purr.

“Oh, you know. The usual,” Prompto said airily, winding his arms around Noctis’s neck with a wide grin. “Lots of painting. Turns out, completing a royal portrait is great for business. The Dowayne is over the moon and back with all the commission requests that have been arriving at the House.”

“Just painting?” Noctis ran his tongue along the shell of Prompto’s ear after he asked the question, drawing a barely perceptible shiver from Prompto.

“Assignations, too,” Prompto added, giving a quiet sigh when Noctis began to nip at his ear with his teeth. “More than usual. Business is booming all around.”

At the mention of business, Noctis fell still and stiff. He withdrew from Prompto far enough back to meet his pale, stunning, violet eyes. “You know this,” Noctis said, gesturing towards his room with a hand, “isn’t business, right? This doesn’t have to—and won’t—go any further than _you_ want. There is no contract.”

Prompto’s smile turned warm and reassuring, though Noctis didn’t feel as much comfort from the expression as he thought he might. “Trust me, I know. _I_ want this, Noctis.”

“Good. Just… we can stop at any time, okay?”

Prompto snorted, a mannerism that seemed borrowed from someone else. “I’m a marqued adept. I think I got the whole consent thing down pat.”

“Of course… you are the professional. In that case, I think you’d look pretty good in my bed.”

“I look good in _everyone’s_ bed.”

Noctis captured Prompto’s lips in a searing kiss, pouring the sudden spike of desire and want he felt for the other man into the joining of their lips. With Prompto still in his arms, he began walking towards the large, canopied, pillow-filled bed that served as a centrepiece for his room. “That’s probably true. Better find out for sure.”

Prompto laughed, the sound full of delight, and more of Noctis’s apprehension eased. Their path to the bed was littered with long, drawn out kisses and roaming hands. At one point, Prompto paused and lifted his hands, allowing Noctis to lift his Eglantine green tunic over his head and toss it to the floor. Prompto returned the favour, his breath hitching as his eyes and hands devoured Noctis’s bare torso in equal parts.

“How are you so beautiful?” Prompto asked, slightly breathless, as he leaned in and kissed the hollow of Noctis’s throat, one of his skillful hands cupping the bulge at the front of Noctis’s hosen.

“Luck and breeding, I guess,” Noctis murmured, his hips chasing the friction of Prompto’s hand. “Are we even going to make it to the bed?”

“Eventually,” Prompto said mischievously. “I have another idea first.” When his hands began to undo the laces of Noctis’s trousers, Noctis’s head swam in a heady rush of anticipation.

“Prompto…” The rest of the sentence vanished into the ether as Prompto gracefully sank to his knees, looking up through his pale eyelashes at Noctis. When Noctis nodded after a hard swallow, Prompto finished undoing the fastenings and pushed them down, exposing Noctis’s hard and aching length to the open air.

“I’ve been told I’m quite skilled at the _languisement_ ,” Prompto offered with a wink, his breath coasting in a warm, damp puff across Noctis’s cock. “But I’ll let you be the judge.”

Before he had time to form a response, Prompto licked a stripe up Noctis’s length from root to tip, his tongue pleasantly hot against the sensitive flesh. It wasn’t the first time Noctis had had the _languisement_ performed on him, not by a long shot; it _was_ the first time someone had done so willingly, out of Naamah’s grace alone, and that knowledge was almost as intoxicating as the physical act itself.

Noctis eagerly watched as Prompto plied his cock with firm, indolent strokes of his tongue, laving all over the length of it in multiple passes. When Prompto reached the tip of Noctis’s arousal, he covered it with his lips and began to swallow him down, engulfing him in a wet heat that fanned the flames of his desire harder.

“ _Naamah,_ ” Noctis said, carding his fingers through Prompto’s exquisitely soft hair and gripping it firmly, trying not to let his knees buckle.

There had been no jest in Prompto’s claim. At the touch of Noctis’s hand to his hair, he hummed approvingly around Noctis’s arousal, his beautiful pink lips stretched prettily around its thickness. Though Noctis had plenty of prior experience with adepts of the Night Court for comparison, any such comparison eroded away until the skill of Prompto’s touch, under the clever tandem of his mouth and fingers stoking Noctis’s pleasure to a fever pitch.

It was easy to lose himself in it. Noctis tipped his head back and gave a quiet moan, his grip in Prompto’s hair tightening. _Elua_ and all of his Companions, Prompto felt _divine_. He wanted more, needed more, his hips bucking unconsciously towards the source of his satisfaction. For an instant, Noctis’s eyes closed, and a stern, bronze visage swam in the black space behind his eyelids. As it did, the delicious heat withdrew from his length, causing Noctis to look down at Prompto, who wore a slight frown.

“A little rough there,” Prompto said, his tone light but careful, as though he were worried about the response.

The words had the instantaneous effect of sobering Noctis. “Gods, Prompto, I’m so sorry. I didn’t even realize,” Noctis breathed, a flush of embarrassment creeping into his pale cheeks.

Of course Kushiel would choose that moment to make his intentions known. _Of course._

“It’s alright,” Prompto offered, but that same caution still underlied his words, shattering the mood into a hundred shards of glass, their edges sharp and dangerous.

Embarrassment turned into mortification as Noctis turned his back to Prompto, tucking his softening length back into his trousers and lacing them. While he’d come _close_ before, he’d never surrendered to the bronze visage of Kushiel, not even for a heartbeat, and to do so now of all times…

Summoning his courage, Noctis faced Prompto, who had risen from the floor and was studying Noctis with a neutral expression.. “Are you alright? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Noctis asked, trying and failing to keep his words even.

“No, no, I’m fine! I just…” Prompto started, the words turning into a hum as he considered. “I’m no Valerian adept, and your grip was getting a bit painful,” he explained. “We don’t have to stop completely.”

Noctis sighed as he fought back the seething anger in his chest—not anger at Prompto, anger at himself for the lapse, for not being more aware of the possibility. “No, I think… I think it’s probably better if we don’t.”

Dauphin of Terre d’Ange he might be, but he was also a Scion of Kushiel, and now that Kushiel had touched Noctis once today… he didn’t trust himself for the rest of it.

“Okay… would you like to talk about it?” Prompto offered, his speech and tone settling into one that was all too familiar to Noctis: that of an Adept in all their professional capacity.

“It’s complicated. You don’t need to worry about it, not after what I did, and seriously, I am so sorry,” Noctis said emphatically, meeting Prompto’s eyes and taking his hands.

“I’m a pretty good listener, too. I told the Eglantine House carriage to come back in a few hours, so I have the time, too.”

“If you want to leave, I can have a Palace carriage take you back.”

The hesitation before Prompto answered felt like a death knell in Noctis’s heart. “I’ll stay. I don’t mind.”

After both of them re-dressed, they sat side by side in Noctis’s miniature salon, where Noctis briefly explained the calling of Kushiel he’d been feeling lately and the ways that it had been manifesting during lovemaking. True to his word, Prompto was a good listener, kind and attentive, but the distance in his eyes never left as they spoke, and Noctis couldn’t help but wonder how bad a mistake he had made.

* * *

It was just after sunset when Prompto arrived at the Violet Nightingale. He’d spent the rest of the afternoon in Night’s Doorstep, selling caricatures for a penny, a song, or a joke. But nothing was able to distract him from memories of his time with Noctis. Part of Prompto was savoring the recollection of those sweet kisses, those gorgeous eyes starting into his. However another part of him was still feeling a bit ill at ease. Still a third part of him was concerned Noctis wouldn’t want to see him anymore, that he’d fallen out of favor.

‘Fallen out of favor’… as if he’d been a hired Adept. A modality they had firmly agreed upon would not define their relationship.

 _But_ , a small voice in Prompto’s head insisted, _If that didn’t define it… what did?_

How easy it was for Prompto to fall in those old patterns of thinking and feeling; patterns that had been fed to him practically with his wet-nurse’s milk. He’d always been aware that he didn’t fit the canon D’Angeline standards of beauty - there had always been folks ready and eager to remind him of that, from the orphanage in Namarre all the way to Eglantine House.

Finding an empty table in the tavern, Prompto seated himself and waited for one of the staff to notice him. He took a deep breath and forced himself to sit up straight, shoulders back, chin high.

He wasn’t that demoralized orphan boy any longer. He was a fully ranked Servant of Naamah. He was one of Elua’s Children, and just as lovely as any other in the city. Anyone who wished to debate his skin’s propensity to freckle in the sun, well… his paints had done worse than capture unflattering images, and that had always proven to be a more effective deterrent than arguing against closed minds.

Prompto saw Gladiolus enter, and raised a hand to get his attention. Gladiolus had the bright idea to swing by the bar before making his way across the room, and when he joined Prompto he carried two mugs of ale.

“How’s it going?” Gladiolus asked with a smile before taking a drink.

“Uh, honestly? I don’t even know.” Prompto stared into the dark brew pensively, trying not to internally berate himself for practically greeting his best friend with his own personal angst.

Gladiolus arched one thick eyebrow. “Spill.”

Prompto relayed the events from his rendezvous with the Dauphin frankly, finishing up with a summation of his thoughts about matters.

After taking another drink, Gladiolus sighed, and then pinned Prompto with firm amber eyes.

“That’s a lot of talk about the Prince. But what’s goin’ on with _you_?”

“Huh?” Prompto blinked, having felt that he just laid it all out there. How was that not about him?

“You’re awfully worried about what the Dauphin says and does and thinks. And Prompto, you know I’m cheering for your happiness - if that’s with His Highness, then I support you.” His voice was implacable, but his gaze was compassionate. “You’ve made your marque. What are you gonna do with it?”

Prompto blinked again, feeling a bit at a loss for words. Fortunately, Gladiolus seemed to have enough for them both.

“Are you staying on at Eglantine, paying the tithe and entertaining what patrons get sent your way? Do you aspire to open your own salon? Fuck, do you want to leave Naamah’s Service and find your joy elsewhere?” Gladiolus crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair until it creaked concerningly beneath his bulk. “Have you even taken on a patron since the Prince’s assignation fee bought your freedom?” Tawny eyes narrowed. “He didn’t buy _you_ , Prompto. You are entirely your own man now. If you want to spend all your time courting the Dauphin? I’ll support you. But I think you deserve more.”

“I never thought I’d make my marque,” Prompto admitted, words so rushed they blurred together. “I always thought I’d be at Eglantine forever.” His eyes teared up, but not from sadness, no. When he spoke again, his voice was wrapped in joy. “I could do so much. I could _be so much.”_

__

“Damn right,” Gladiolus agreed. “But you gotta start somewhere. Things won’t just happen to you.”

“Where do I start?” Prompto was curious what Gladiolus suggest, especially since he’d chosen to stay at Balm House since completing his marque.

“First you gotta sit down and figure out what you want,” Gladiolus shrugged. “I stayed at Balm House, because for now? That suits my purposes well enough. But I might leave someday if the right offer comes along.” Those honey-gold eyes unfocused as he was lost in thought, but Prompto suspected that, despite the secretive little smile quirking his full lips, Gladiolus wasn’t daydreaming about a lover, but about some deeply held ambition he was longing to fulfill someday.

“You’re right,” Prompto agreed. Draining his mug in four huge gulps, Prompto pushed back from the table and stood. “Sorry to cut our evening short, but I have some work to do.”

Gladiolus saluted Prompto with his ale. “Let me know what you figure out.”

“Will do, big guy!” Prompto said cheerfully before leaving the Nightingale to return to Eglantine House.

He had a long night ahead of him. But rather than dubious at the idea of listing out his hopes and dreams, he was excited.

* * *

Watching Prompto’s lithe form disappear behind the closing door, Gladiolus smiled to himself. While he’d hoped to enjoy his friend’s company for longer, he was glad that Prompto was finally getting his feet set on the path of actually living his life. Gladiolus didn’t even mind that the conversation had been so one-sided, not this time. Prompto needed advice, and Gladiolus was always willing to tell things straight.

It was another sort of healing, and not one he begrudged someone he cared about.

Finishing his beer, Gladiolus got the barman’s attention, waiting patiently until he made he way over to the table. After ordering dinner - and paying far more than the simple meal and drinks had cost, as was his custom in this place - Gladiolus pulled a book from his jacket pocket.

Yeah, he was re-reading Delaunay’s love poems for the hundredth time that week. Gladiolus owned the fact he was a sentimental fool, and he didn’t care one bit. Scintillating emerald eyes gone wide with pleasure haunted his waking moments; those same eyes narrowed with focus as their owner worked Gladiolus’s cock with unexpected skill tantalized him in his dreams.

Thinking about Ignis was nice, but Gladiolus had much more on his mind tonight, despite the romantic choice of reading material. He wasn’t paying much attention to actually reading, at any rate - it just felt good to have a book in his hands.

Talking to Prompto had Gladiolus mulling over his own life’s path. He was happy at Balm House, it was true, but he had to admit to himself that he’d hoped by now to open his own salon. The only problem was, he didn’t want to do it alone.. and he hadn’t met yet an adept who both matched him in skill and had the necessary business acumen. He knew if he but said the word, his father would secure him a suitable property in a heartbeat. But Gladiolus thought his spirit might wither away a bit day by day if he started such a venture on his own. He was too much of a people person to choose such solitude. Better to lease out space at Balm, where Gladiolus was left mostly to his own devices so long as he paid his share - while always having the option to socialize with his peers in the adepts’ lounge.

Giving up on the pretense of reading, Gladiolus put away his book and tucked into his dinner, though his thoughts still whirled like a cyclone. He’d heard whispered that Lunafreya nó Cereus and her lover Nyx nó Heliotrope were planning to open their own salon, blending the canons of their two Houses in a labor of love that was sure to be the talk of the City for months. Maybe Gladiolus could secure an invitation to the grand opening fête. He’d always admired the two of them, and while they weren’t close friends, Gladiolus counted them on his short list of trusted acquaintances. Perhaps it was time to try and fan the flames of nascent friendship into an actual rapport; while Gladiolus would never dream of infringing on their partnership business venture, it never hurt to make connections, and he could learn a lot watching how they went about it.

But first, he needed to figure out a way to gain an audience with Prince Noctis. The royal brat had been monopolizing so much of Prompto’s time of late, that it was only right for Gladiolus to get to know him better. Sure, they’d spent a little time at the fancy dinner and in the Hall of Games, but those were all group events, not suitable to the type of conversation Gladiolus wished to engage in.

Where his best friend was concerned, Gladiolus didn’t mind acting the part of half-breed brute, if it would help ensure the Dauphin treated Prompto properly.

At least Gladiolus didn’t have Prompto’s initial dilemma of needing to wait for an invitation to the Royal Palace. Since his father lived there, Gladiolus was able to visit as he wished, so that was one less thing on his mental checklist.

And thinking of his family… Iris.

It was high summer, and all too soon autumn would color the trees in sunset hues as the wheel of the year turned ever closer to winter’s chill. That means Iris would need to book passage back to Alba, lest she be stuck in Terre d’Ange until spring. Gladiolus knew Father would be thrilled if Iris stayed, but, Iris would be miserable. Winter meant less freedom of exploration and more dull state events put on to keep the nobles entertained. No. She belonged in the woods of their mother’s people, listening to the _ollamh_ weave stories around a bonfire, hunting and fishing and honoring their more savage birthright.

Betimes Gladiolus wished he could go with her. He knew he’d always be welcome among the clans, but every time he started to put plans in motion to cross the sea and visit the land he’d not seen in over a decade, something inside him roiled in foreboding.

He was needed here. Gladiolus wasn’t certain why, or when. All he knew was it was true. It didn’t take a talent for Seeing to know that. He honored his intuition, and stayed in Elua’s land. But someday… someday, he would see those green hills and lush valleys again, hunt the woods with his sister and leave offerings on his mother’s grave.

Maybe a trip to Gentian House was in order. The mystical adepts who resided there were skilled in such matters, and perhaps they could help him understand why he felt so compelled to stay in the City, even when his heart sang with longing for his other home.

Gladiolus put down his knife and fork and nodded. It was settled. Tomorrow, or the day after, he’d go to the Palace, visit his father and sister, and see if he could arrange a ‘chance encounter’ with the Courcel heir. Thus decided, he left a small pile of ducats on the table by his empty plate, rose, and headed off into the night.

He may as well get some sleep. The next few days would certainly be busy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and for your patience while waiting for this update. <3 Comments and kudos are appreciated if you enjoyed.
> 
> Stay tuned in two weeks (we hope) for the next update! Thanks again. <3


	17. Healing and Hurt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noctis visits Gladiolus at Balm House.

A sense of ease settled over Noctis like fine silk as he stepped out of the carriage into the bustling haven of the Night Court. Amidst the chaos and difficulties of the previous weeks, the Houses that Naamah’s servants called home served as a simpler, less complicated version of home to Noctis, too. A cloud of spicy, floral perfume wafted by as a Jasmine adept passed him by, the tan skin of her hand contrasting deliciously against the forearm of the D’Angeline woman who guided her. In the distance, Noctis could see a group of Eglantine tumblers laughing and joking, their green and gold colours vibrant against the neutral palette of the Night Court architecture.

Seeing the Eglantine adepts made a pulse of longing twinge through Noctis, a fluttering ache for Prompto’s company. He’d sent a brief missive addressed to Prompto after their tense conversation at the Palace, but had received no response, and thus hadn’t pressed the issue. He was the Dauphin, but more importantly, if Prompto had changed his mind about their involvement, Noctis respected his choice enough to honor it, no matter how much he enjoyed his company.

 _Love as thou wilt_ didn’t always make for simple choices, nor did it always leave every party satisfied.

Dimly, Noctis registered Crowe’s voice above the din of the crowd.

“Your Highness,” she snapped. “Are you even paying attention?”

“Of course I am,” Noctis drawled, though he’d been swept up in serious thoughts for a long moment. “You were making some kind of bodily threat against my person if I don’t fully cooperate with you and the rest of the Palace Guard.”

Crowe narrowed her eyes, and with a curt motion of two fingers, summoned Brother Pelna to guard Noctis’ other flank, the young Cassiline’s features bright with vigilance. “Perhaps I’m becoming too predictable if you can make an accurate guess so easily. In any case…” Crowe paused to lower her voice. “While Guard Captain Clarus and Her Majesty have permitted this public outing, please do try to remember how recently an attempt on your life was made.”

Noctis turned to face Crowe and batted his eyelashes at her. “Really? I’d almost forgotten.”

“Straight inside Balm House. Straight back outside. No detours, dalliances, or extensions.”

Noctis brushed off the midnight blue velvet of his tunic and resisted the urge to drag the polished toe of his boot through the dirt. “What will it take for you to believe I’m honestly _trying_ to be on my best behavior?”

“A miracle, Your Highness,” Crowe said drily. “Nothing short of Naamah Herself descending to D’Angeline shores and allowing me to fondle her bountiful tits would convince me.”

“I feel like I could learn some new, creative ways to swear from you,” Noctis suggested innocently as they made their way to the main entrance of Balm House.

“You’ve only yourself to thank for my endless well of profanity, Your Highness.”

Noctis gave a delighted laugh and decided Crowe had won this round. Their day-to-day routine had settled into familiar teasing once more, though Noctis was well aware of her lingering displeasure regarding Ignis’s injury at his expense.

Once they reached the front doors of Balm House, Noctis allowed Brother Pelna to enter the salon first, followed by himself, with Crowe bringing up the rear. Gentle music floated through the foyer, and Noctis traced the source of the music to a harpist seated in the corner, long fingers plucking at the strings, delicate as the brush of fingertips against sensitive skin. When the first servant took notice of him, he sank into a deep bow, which sent a ripple effect through the rest of the salon, servants and adepts alike stopping to pay homage to the Dauphin of Terre d’Ange.

 _This is why I hate travelling with a full retinue._ Despite the sourness to the thought, Noctis managed his best smile, piling on all the charm and elegance he could—which was significant, when he put his mind to it.

“May I get you anything, my lord Dauphin? A cup of tea? A warm cloth? A light refreshment after your journey?” a servant asked, eyes downcast to the floor.

“No thank you,” Noctis said politely. “I’m here to see Gladiolus nó Balm, if you wouldn’t mind letting him know I’ve arrived.”

“No need.”

The familiarity of the rich, accented purr drew Noctis’s attention to the far corner of the foyer. Gladiolus was crossing the room, heading straight towards Noctis and wearing a casual, delighted grin.

Though Noctis had seen the adept recently, he hadn’t quite been _this_ close during all of their encounters. Gladiolus was much larger in stature than Noctis had realized, likely due to his partial Cruithne heritage. Noctis’s eyes were drawn to the swirling, intricate woad tattoos that covered his arms and wrapped around his neck—they didn’t quite reach his face, and Noctis found himself glad of that fact, because it would be a shame to mar it. A well-manicured beard framed a strong jaw, those plush lips still canted into a near smirk. His warm amber eyes were accented by bold, dark eyebrows; a pale scar bisected his left eye and somehow added to his presence.

He looked strong, graceful, and just a bit savage. He approached Noctis and, in the gesture all adepts of the Night Court were taught, knelt _abeyante_ in front of Noctis.

“Dauphin,” he said with his eyes on the ground, his voice a bass rumble.

Noctis felt a pulse of desire at the sight, the blood beating in his ears.

“No need to stand on ceremony,” Noctis said.

“Good,” Gladiolus said, raising from his position on the floor. “What they never tell you starting out is all that kneeling is damn hard on the knees.”

Noctis let out a laugh that bordered on a giggle, already feeling a bit more at ease. He crossed the few steps towards Gladiolus and looked at him, the difference in their height more apparent from this vantage.

“Would you like to give me the kiss of greeting?” Noctis asked, unable to hold back a pleased smile as he regarded Gladiolus.

“Since you offered…” Gladiolus bent down and placed his lips firmly on Noctis’s own. They were softer than he remembered, but just as confident and sure, reminiscent of the few exchanges they’d had previously. The sensation of Gladiolus’s beard scratching against Noctis’s face was unfamiliar, but not unpleasant. 

Noctis reached up and threaded his fingers through Gladiolus’s umber hair, unable to help himself as the kiss of greeting extended beyond its normal length, his own rosebud lips curved in a smile against Gladiolus’s. This drew a low chuckle from the adept.

“Ready to head to my quarters?” Gladiolus asked as they parted, one broad palm lingering at the base of Noctis’ spine, the touch boldly intimate in a way not many dared attempt with someone of his standing, even Servants of Naamah.

“Lead the way.” As Noctis allowed himself to be steered towards the back of Balm House, he looked over his shoulder at Crowe, giving her his best catlike grin, complete with a toss of his unbraided hair.

“Remember your instructions, Your Highness,” Crowe said mildly—well, mildly for Crowe.

“He’s in good hands, Lady Altius,” Gladiolus murmured, and the heady promise laced between his words made Noctis’s blood stir anew.

“It’s not your hands I’m worried about.” She offered Noctis a cursory bow before taking up her post beside the inner door of the salon.

As Gladiolus guided Noctis down several corridors, the passages bathed in soft light from sconces affixed to the walls, he already felt his troubles easing, soothed away by the comforting embrace and gentle heat of Gladiolus’s body against his. The weariness bled from his limbs, beginning to untangle the tight snarl in his chest that Noctis had been carrying deep within for several span. He wasn’t often a patron at Balm House, but he was beginning to reconsider the frequency of his visits if simply entering the House had this much of an effect on him. Noctis, without thinking too long or hard about the implications, leaned further into Gladiolus’s touch, resting his head on his outer arm.

“Do you always make a public show of greeting your patrons?” Noctis asked.

“Only when I feel like it.” Naamah, Gladiolus’s voice was a deep, physical thing, vibrating through Noctis at the points where their bodies were connected.

No wonder Ignis couldn’t stay away.

“You mean when the Dauphin of Terre d’Ange contracts you for an assignation and you want to remind Balm of your value,” Noctis corrected, flicking his gaze up towards Gladiolus’s and giving an indolent smirk. To his own surprise, there was none of the bitterness he might have expected from the words, only coy flirtation.

“That part doesn’t hurt,” Gladiolus agreed with a grin, his wide amber eyes glittering with mirth. “Is it so hard to believe I was looking forward to your visit for its own sake, my lord Dauphin?”

Noctis tensed beneath Gladiolus’s grip at the title. “My name is Noctis,” he snapped. The ferocity of his response took him by surprise. Usually, he was all too happy to have most adepts refer to him by title instead of name. 

Instead of taking offense, Gladiolus chuckled, and Noctis couldn’t decide if he liked the easy way Gladiolus took his temper in stride, or was irritated by the dismissal of his anger. “Sorry. Noctis it is, then. Also, these are my chambers.” He stepped away and produced a key from a pocket in his trousers and unlocked the door, and after he had pushed it open, gave Noctis a small bow and extended an arm. “After you.”

No House of the Night Court could be called shabby with any degree of truth, but as Noctis stepped inside Gladiolus’s quarters, he thought the chamber made the rest of Balm House appearmerely _adequate_ by comparison. Gladiolus had more books stuffed into his chambers than Noctis had ever seen in one place, save for the palatial library. The pleasant aroma of incense lingered in the room, a thin trail of smoke rising from a golden brazier hanging in one corner of the room. Naturally, Noctis’s eyes were drawn to the sizeable bed, admiring the deep forest green of the crushed velvet coverlet laid atop it. The ornate, in-ground bath rivaled Noctis’s own back in the palace, but it was currently empty.

“Would you like to bathe first?” Gladiolus’s full lips were curved in an easy smile.

“I thought it was generally good to do that _before_ an assignation,” Noctis drawled, his own pink lips echoing Gladiolus’s expression.

“Just asking.” Gladiolus lowered his face to rest beside Noctis’s and gave a slow, deep inhale. After he did, he placed his lips against Noctis’s ear and spoke. “You smell delicious. Ylang ylang and… bergamot?” When Gladiolus grazed the tip of Noctis’s ear with a kiss, he shuddered under the touch, bare though it was.

“Yeah,” Noctis agreed, tipping his head back and baring the pale column of his throat, his sapphire eyes drifting closed. “Do that again.”

Gladiolus encircled Noctis in his warm, strong arms and brought his lips to Noctis’s ear again, tracing the shell of it with kisses far more delicate than his stature would suggest. As he began to cover Noctis’s neck with soft, lingering kisses, a familiar longing began to pool in his groin, his body responding of its own accord. _Elua_ , this was exactly what he envisioned when he first thought of contracting the services of Gladiolus nó Balm.

“Tell me what you want, Your Highness,” Gladiolus said, speaking the words against porcelain, milk-white skin. “Noctis,” he corrected, his voice dropping half an octave, and Noctis’s arousal began to strain against his trousers in earnest.

Noctis met Gladiolus’s eyes, twilight blue on warm whiskey. “Undress me,” he breathed, no less command behind the words despite their softness. 

Gladiolus chuckled and ran his hands down Noctis’s body until he met the bottom edge of the Dauphin’s tunic. With one fluid motion, he pulled the garment up over Noctis’s head and dropped it to his side. Though his skin had been exposed to the open air, the temperature in the chambers was absolutely perfect. Noctis’s heart stuttered as Gladiolus sank to his knees before him, not quite kneeling _abeyante_ but kneeling all the same.

“Let me take off your boots?” Gladiolus asked.

He managed a nod and lifted one foot to Gladiolus’s waiting hands. Thick, deft fingers unlaced the boot with surprising speed. As he removed the boot, he brushed those same fingers along the arch in Noctis’s foot, following the curve of it with an almost reverent expression in his amber eyes. There was no ignoring the desire pulsing through Noctis’s veins now, steady and sure, the grace of Naamah conveyed through the touch of her servant.

Noctis’s breath hitched in his throat when Gladiolus’s hands went to the laces on his trousers after removing his boots. His undid them easily and pulled them, along with Noctis’s underclothes, down his legs, leaving them in a pool at his feet. Gladiolus’s face was close enough to his swollen length that he could feel the warm, damp puff of his exhale ghost across it. The more impatient part of him longed to see Gladiolus take his arousal between his lips in the _languisement_ now, but he’d paid for several hours of the adept’s time, and he intended to make the most of them.

“If you want me to stop or do something else, say the word,” Gladiolus said, his hands gripping Noctis’s thighs and rubbing small circles in their taut, muscled flesh with his thumbs. Noctis found he… he didn’t know what he wanted, not exactly. He was hard already, but that was to be expected with a handsome, fierce, skilled Servant of Naamah divesting him of his clothing.

“I trust your expertise,” Noctis said, reaching down and cupping Gladiolus’s bearded cheek with a hand. On a whim, he stroked Gladiolus’s dark hair with the same hand, shuddering when Gladiolus met his eyes with pupils blown wide from desire.

“Good. Then listen to me and lay your gorgeous body out on that bed. Face down. Please,” Gladiolus added the last word as an afterthought.

Noctis found his body moving of its own accord before he registered the request. When he got to the bed, he pushed a couple of pillows to the side in order to make space for him and Gladiolus. Noctis laid down on the bed as requested, allowing himself one languorous rut of his hips against the soft sheets as he waited, heedless of the mess he might make.

“Can I remove my clothing?” Gladiolus asked from the bedside.

“I’d be horribly, _terribly_ disappointed if you didn’t,” Noctis teased, his head still turned in the opposite direction.

There were several quiet sounds from Noctis’s left, the fluttering of fabric against skin. It was followed by the gentle chime of glass knocking against glass. Noctis felt more than saw Gladiolus sink onto the bed beside him, his presence both comforting and inviting.

“I’m starting to see why you have half the Night Court wrapped around your princely finger,” Gladiolus admitted, a slight strain to his voice. “You okay if I touch you?”

“Please,” Noctis murmured, closing his eyes. A blush crept into his pale cheeks, more from arousal and pride than any sense of embarrassment.

Noctis saw Gladiolus straddle him out of the corner of his eye, his body a reassuring weight across Noctis’s thighs. He felt a lukewarm oil being spread across his back, followed by the press of strong fingers into the muscle of his back. The smell was delightful, the strong smell of jasmine and other floral notes Noctis couldn’t identify.

“Your skin is nothing short of amazing. I’m sure you’ve heard it before, but it’s damn flawless… so smooth and soft. Pale enough that I can see the veins in places. Must be the Shahrizai in you,” Gladiolus said conversationally, his hands easing the tension out of Noctis’s muscles with his own brand of magic.

“Thank you.” He moaned quietly as Gladiolus’s fingers found a particularly tough knot in his lower back, burying his face in the silk pillow as Gladiolus continued to work. This was perhaps better than the sex would be, Noctis thought, pleasure coursing through him in slow waves.

“Awfully polite now that I got my hands on you,” Gladiolus observed, chuckling, continuing his massage with all the considerable skill at his disposal. “I know this is an assignation, but we’re not strangers, so can I speak freely?” 

“If I say no, would you listen?” Noctis quipped.

Another bass boom of a laugh from Gladiolus. “I would because I’m nothing if not professional, but I wouldn’t be happy about it.”

“Seems you’ve already begun to speak freely anyway.” Noctis gasped as Gladiolus took his shoulders in his broad hands and began to work at the tension there. _Elua_ , this was amazing. “Permission granted,” he added with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Having you like this, naked and gorgeous and pliant beneath me… I can almost see what Prompto likes about you.” Gladiolus said, his tone appreciative. Noctis frowned, almost imperceptibly, but Gladiolus seemed to feel the sudden stiffness in his muscles.

“Sorry if I overstepped. It was intended as a compliment,” Gladiolus explained.

“No, no… you didn’t overstep. It’s just…” Noctis paused, gasped as Gladiolus continued to firmly work his oil-slicked shoulders, “Sometimes I don’t feel very much like I deserve anyone’s approval at all.” The words slipped from Noctis’s mouth before he had the sense to stop them.

Or maybe there was no sense in stopping them. He felt inexplicably _safe_ with Gladiolus, like the rest of the world didn’t exist, and he wondered if it was the talent of Balm or the talent of the man himself.

Gladiolus let his hands wander back down Noctis’s back, stopping just above the cleft between his cheeks. His thumbs worked either side of Noctis’s spine in slow circles, and the motion felt utterly magnificent. When Noctis was nearly panting into the sheets from the relief of it, Gladiolus began to massage the twin globes of his ass, his fingers just as dextrous as in the other places.

“Wanna talk about it? Secret is safe with me. Adept of the Night Court and all that,” Gladiolus asked, his grip firm and rhythmic. Noctis felt his hardness pressing between his belly and the sheets. He rocked his hips a bit to indulge it, the act of chasing his pleasure a convenient distraction to the truth on the tip of his tongue.

“I… I’m not sure there’s much to talk about. I’m sure they’re the same problems anyone in my position has faced. The flattery, the attention, the expectations. But overall, I guess I feel… like no one truly cares?” Noctis closed his eyes again. “Actually, I felt like Prompto cared, but pretty sure I ruined that too.”

“There’s not much in the world an apology can’t fix.”

“I tried,” Noctis said, resigned. He was tempted to ask Gladiolus to put in a good word for him, but patron-adept confidentiality was sacred, and even he wasn’t selfish enough to put Gladiolus in such a position. “He knows where to find me, I guess, if he ever wants to talk.”

“He does,” Gladiolus confirmed. He adjusted his position across Noctis’s back a bit before his wide hands began to ply the muscles of Noctis’s thighs. Blessed Elua, the man had a _gift_ for this. Noctis could feel the wet spot underneath him where his cock had began to leak. Not quite ready to give up the delicious pressure of Gladiolus’s ministrations—or the freedom in speaking his worries—Noctis kept talking. 

“And I know he’s meant to help, but the exquisite advisor they thrust upon me on a moment’s notice is… smart, entertaining, but _highly_ distracting, truly.”

Gladiolus laughed; Noctis could feel the bass rumble of it vibrate through his body.

“You’re not wrong there,” Gladiolus said. There was a delightful burn behind the words, as much confirmation as Noctis was likely to get about his suspicions regarding Ignis. He ignored the sharp pang of agonized longing in his chest at the thought of Ignis in this same position, in this same bed. He wasn’t jealous, not truly, but…

No. Better to change directions before he revealed a truth no one but Elua knew.

For now.

“I have to know,” Noctis started, breaking off in a gasp as Gladiolus slid his fingers between the cheeks of Noctis’s ass for a moment, “Does he look as beautiful chasing his pleasure as I imagine? I find myself wanting to crawl under his desk and bring him to completion with my mouth, right then and there, just to see his reaction.” It was easier to resort to his typical flirtation than skirt too close to the real issue at hand.

Gladiolus chuckled again, and then Noctis felt the sting of a wide palm slapping his ass. Not hard, barely enough to hurt at all, but the shock of it made Noctis’s eyes go wide.

“Now now, you know I can’t kiss and tell. Or _anything_ and tell, before you twist my words, Princess,” Gladiolus said.

Noctis lifted his head from his folded arms and looked back at Gladiolus. “Princess?” he asked with a roll of his eyes. “Isn’t that a bit—”

He’d had a sharp retort on the tip of his tongue, but the mirth and heat in Gladiolus’s amber eyes made it wither before he could speak. Noctis drank in the sight of Gladiolus, of the woad tattoos encircling his arms, of the abdominal muscles that rippled under his bronzed skin every time he shifted… of his cock, hanging heavy and half hard between his thighs, framed by a patch of dark curls.

Noctis didn’t know how much longer he’d be able to wait.

He wanted to stop thinking about everything—to surrender to Naamah’s embrace entirely.

“I see a spade, I call it a spade.” Gladiolus paused, considering, and his voice was far more gentle when he next spoke. “I don’t envy you, though. Must be pretty lonely.”

Lonely. The word echoed inside Noctis’s mind, an accusation and a reminder in the same turn. In theory, he had no reason to be lonely; countless servants, citizens, nobles, and adepts were at his beck and call, summoned with a crook of his finger and the promise of ducats. By the same token, Noctis was all too aware of his reputation in the city, and combined with the knowledge that most only associated with him out of obligation… 

It hurt.

Sorrow muted Noctis’s desire, plunging it into dormancy once more. He was trying his best, but his best wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough for his parents, who regarded him with lovingly veiled disappointment. It wasn’t enough for Prompto, who had (perhaps rightly so) fled at the first mention of his stirring Shahrizai leanings. It certainly wasn’t enough for Ignis, who had probably agreed to stay in the City of Elua out of his rigid sense of duty rather than any desire to keep Noctis’s company.

“It is,” Noctis agreed quietly, scalding tears welling up in his eyes, spilling down his cheeks as he closed them.

The bed shifted as Gladiolus moved, the comforting pressure of his weight gone. After a few moments, Gladiolus began to run a warm, damp cloth all along Noctis’s back, wiping off the oil used for the massage. His limbs were relaxed, but the heaviness in his chest was back, snarled and ugly as ever.

“Noctis. Look at me?”

“Why?” Noctis asked, the old petulance creeping back into his tone.

“C’mon, don’t be difficult. Just turn over,” Gladiolus insisted, not unkindly.

With a sniffle and a quick scrub of his face, Noctis rolled over to his back, his body curling in on itself. Hesitantly, he met Gladiolus’s gaze. Despite knowing better of trained adepts, he expected to find judgment or derision there. Instead, those wide, amber eyes were full to the brim with understanding and kindness. He reached a hand down and tucked an errant lock of Noctis’s hair behind his ear, thumb sketching a line across his finely sculpted cheekbone.

“All of Elua’s children are loved,” Gladiolus said gently, wiping a fresh tear from Noctis’s pale cheek, “including you.”

Embarrassment flared within Noctis, causing a flush to creep into his face. “You’re just saying that.”

Gladiolus raised an eyebrow at him. He murmured something in Cruithne before switching back to his accented D’Angeline. “I’m sayin’ it because it’s true. Nothing changes in a single turn of the moon, Princess. You gotta give it time.”

“If all of Elua’s children are loved, why do I feel so alone?” Noctis asked, a fresh spate of tears trickling down his face as he tore his eyes from Gladiolus’s.

“I can help with that.” Gladiolus urged Noctis’s face back in his direction and leaned down, dark, wild waves of hair falling over his shoulders.

“Can you?” Noctis’s pulse began to gallop in his ears, the atmosphere shifting, a charged electricity like magic building between them.

“Sure can.”

“Prove it.”

Gladiolus slid his hands beneath Noctis’s back and scooped him up into his arms with a compassionate, easy strength, pulling him into his lap where he sat cross-legged on the bed. Noctis instinctively wrapped his legs around Gladiolus’s waist, their bodies pressed closed, limbs intertwined, and rested his head on the adept’s broad, woad covered shoulder. He’s thought there would be more tears, but instead, he felt an overwhelming sense of relief and comfort, one which dried his tears as quickly as they’d come.

“Sure thing,” Gladiolus rumbled. He dropped a kiss on the top of Noctis’s head, and soon after, more followed, his lips brushing hair and ear and neck in a tender line. Eventually, Gladiolus reached Noctis’s mouth, and when he kissed him, he drank Gladiolus down like an elixir, opening to him like a flower to the dawn.

Noctis had visited all thirteen Houses of the Night Court, but that night, he learned the truth of Balm House’s canon: _Rest and Be Soothed_. Gladiolus was exceedingly gentle as he explored Noctis’s body, chastely at first, but soon Noctis wanted more, and so he asked for it with rolling hips and breathy moans and arching back, the curtain of his hair falling behind him like a midnight waterfall. No matter the trappings of their positions in the outside world, Noctis and Gladiolus were both on equal footing in the hours of their assignation, worshipping Naamah together and placing themselves in her care.

When they finally joined together, when Gladiolus eased inside of Noctis, still holding him tight, he shed more tears, healing tears that cleansed a pain he hadn’t known existed until now. Words were fickle things that Noctis had learned not to trust, but Gladiolus didn’t rely on words, speaking instead in the sacred language he’d been trained to use. He felt utterly safe in Gladiolus’s strong embrace because… because there could be no lies in the fervent worship of his touch.

As Noctis approached his peak, as the pleasure and respite became too much to bear, Noctis went limp, dropping his head to Gladiolus’s shoulder and panting quietly against his woad-covered collarbone. He barely realized that his body had gone slack, that Gladiolus’s broad hands lifted his body up and down, supporting him even now, even as they both began to gasp and moan in time with the motions, each of their exhalations like tiny prayers to Naamah.

Noctis found it so very easy… to let go. To feel safe. To feel loved.

After they’d found their release, Noctis stayed enveloped in Gladiolus’s arms, and as he drifted to sleep, the pulse beating in his ears was interwoven with the gentle beating of wings.

* * *

The sense of grace Noctis felt after departing Balm House lasted all of a day.

As much as Noctis wished to go back to his old ways and stay in the comfort of his bed, daydreaming of his rejuvenating encounter with one Gladiolus nó Balm, he’d made a promise to himself to take his studies seriously, so he roused from slumber and dressed for the day.

If Noctis was a quarter hour late due to a prolonged bath in which he re-lived the previous evening’s encounter, he still counted it a victory that he ended up in his tutor’s study at all.

One _rousing_ afternoon of Skaldic history and Caerdicci lessons later, Ignis allowed them a break, owlishly peering at Noctis through his spectacles.

“You’re in a rather excellent mood today,” Ignis observed, his attention darting back and forth between Noctis and the thick tome in front of him.

“I had a rather excellent night,” Noctis said, copying Ignis’s formal D’Angeline cadence. He grinned and leaned across the desk, resting his chin in his hands. “I had a somewhat related question. Do you think a first edition copy of Sarea’s _History of Namarre_ would make a good gift for Gladiolus? You know him better than I do, I think.”

Ignis went utterly still, his fingertips still grasping the corner of a page. “Pardon me?”

“Gladiolus nó Balm? Book-loving adept of the Night Court? Big, handsome, half-Cruithne? Come on,” Noctis cajoled, still grinning. “His patron-gift was arranged in the contract, but I wanted to get him something a little more personal as thanks for his help.”

“Help?” Ignis repeated, accent slipping.

“I had an assignation with him yesterday,” Noctis admitted, sapphire eyes distant and a touch dreamy as details swirled in his thoughts. “Elua’s balls, if I had known just how skilled he was, I would have gone sooner. You’ve been holding out on me.”

Lost in his own recollections, Noctis didn’t notice how long the silence extended after his words. As his attention returned to the present, his stomach plummeted to the floor. Ignis was practically _shaking_ in his seat, his knuckles white where he held the edge of the desk in a death grip, lips pursed together in a razor thin line.

“Why would you do this?” Ignis demanded, obviously seething with anger. He shoved back from the desk and stood, pacing back and forth in a tight line, not looking at Noctis. “What sort of game are you playing at, _Your Highness?_ ” 

“Game?” Noctis replied, baffled, rising to his own feet in an echo of Ignis’s motion, the beads at the tips of his braids clinking together as they swayed. “I’m not playing games. It was an honest question! The two of you have been—”

“Lessons are cancelled for the week. Please leave,” Ignis forced through clenched teeth.

“What? Why?! I didn’t do anything—”

A string of vicious Caerdicci streamed forth from Ignis’s lips, his verdant eyes wide and sharp with anger. “I’m not interested in whatever excuse you’re about to produce. Leave, Noctis.”

Instead of anger, Noctis struggled against a sharp, stabbing pain in his chest, a pain so real it felt as though Ignis had run him through with one of his long, elegant daggers. “Ignis, I…” 

“ _Get out!_ ” Ignis spat, jabbing a finger at the door. When Noctis made no move towards the door, his cheeks flushed. “ _NOW!_ ” he roared, in a tone so unlike his usual calm, academic demeanor that a trickle of fear coursed through Noctis.

Head held high, Noctis stalked from the room, bristling with indignation and unwilling to cast even a single glance back at Ignis.

He made it all the way back to his quarters before the tears came again, bitter and hot. No matter how hard he tried, no matter what he did, Noctis was beginning to think he was doomed never to outgrow the reputation he’d cultivated, with Ignis and with Terre d’Ange as a whole.

Perhaps it only was what he deserved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your patience in regards to this update. Ali here, taking full responsibility for the delay, as Life Happened (TM) and my creative output dwindled to next to nothing. We are both very excited to continue this story and thank you again for your patience, readership, and support.
> 
> See you soon for the next chapter! <3 We'd love to hear from you, so drop us a line if you have a moment.


	18. Speak Your Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignis struggles to reconcile unexpected, strong emotions.

“I had an assignation with him yesterday.” Ignis saw the way those twilight eyes softened with memory and his own posture went rigid. Surely, Noctis didn’t mean…

“Elua’s balls, if I had known just how skilled he was, I would have gone sooner. You’ve been holding out on me.”

Ignis sat there staring down Noctis in utter silence. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what to do. He was well aware that Gladiolus still took on patrons; that was his livelihood, and while Ignis didn’t relish that knowledge, he accepted it. But for Noctis, someone Ignis continually thought was maybe more than a student, was maybe a friend, to go and visit Ignis’s lover… to what purpose had he chosen that particular adept? Balm had a house full of skilled healers and masseurs. Clearly Noctis’s choice was to send a message.

He had miscalculated. Noctis wasn’t his friend. He didn’t care about Ignis in the slightest beyond how he could fit in to the Prince’s petty little games. Somehow, he had discerned the fact that Gladiolus meant more to Ignis than just a series of business transactions, and this was the Dauphin’s latest attempt in thumbing his nose at Ignis’s heritage and tutelage.

Ignis realized that his entire body was vibrating with anger, and he gripped the edge of his desk so tightly his knuckles were white and his hands stinging from the sharpness digging into his palms. “Why would you do this?” he ground out between clenched teeth. Rising from behind his desk, he paced a tight pattern behind it, very deliberately not looking at Noctis. 

Ignis felt the tears beading at his wide eyes, and he _would not_ let the Prince see him cry. “What sort of game are you playing at, Your Highness?” he spat the accusation sharply.

“Game?” Oh, how rich; the Dauphin was pretending to be confused. Ignis heard the sounds of him rising to his feet, and the click of his beaded braids as he presumably shook his head. “I’m not playing games. It was an honest question! The two of you have been—”

That was all the confirmation Ignis needed. The Prince _had_ known about Ignis’s relationship - he had sought out Gladiolus deliberately. The next words from his mouth would likely be mocking Ignis for thinking what he had with Gladiolus was special.

That what had been growing with Noctis had _meant something_.

“Lessons are cancelled for the week. Please leave.” Ignis finally turned to look at his student, his features rigid in an effort not to show any weakness.

“What? Why?! I didn’t do anything—”

Ignis swore, each accented Caerdicci syllable wrapped in vitriol. His eyes widened, and he made no further effort to hide the rage that blossomed in emerald depths. “I’m not interested in whatever excuse you’re about to produce. Leave, Noctis.” The taste of His Highness’s name on Ignis’s tongue was bittersweet and caused more tears to gather at his eyes, but he managed to hold them back.

It was the last time he’d allow himself to say it ever again.

When the Dauphin spoke again, his voice was soft, and Ignis _almost_ allowed himself to soften in kind. “Ignis, I…”

“Get out!” he ordered, pointing to the ornate doors of his study.

But the Prince made no move to obey, simply staring at Ignis with such a wounded, longing look in his eyes that Ignis felt his cheeks burn from a plethora of mixed feelings.

“NOW!” he shouted, allowing those myriad emotions to make the word burn hot, like the air itself was on fire as it was expelled from his lungs. 

And then Ignis was alone, the door slammed shut.

He walked to the door, and pressed a hand against it as the first tears began to fall. Ignis slowly crumpled to the plush carpet, leaning against the door and drawing his legs up to his chest as he wept. How could the Prince had done this? No. The fault wasn’t with the Heir of Terre d’Ange, it was within himself. He should have never allowed himself to develop such unprofessional feelings, should have tried harder to cling to his Caerdicci ways. 

But in shedding his upbringing, Ignis had finally begun to feel alive.

Finally, when his legs had stopped shaking enough to stand, Ignis went back to his desk, sat in his chair, cradled his head in his hands and wept until all his tears were spent. Perhaps he was more fatigued from the deluge of emotion than he realized, for Ignis thought he heard the faint sound of wings beating in the air.

* * *

After Ignis’s tears had dried and enough time had passed that his porcelain features were no longer splotchy, his eyes no longer swollen, he decided to make his way out to the practice yard. The exercise would help, though he already knew he’d find no sleep tonight.

The yard was empty - no real surprise at this hour, since most would be enjoying their evening repast. Just the thought of food caused Ignis’s gut to roil with nausea. It suited him fine to have the solitude; they had practice dummies set up, and he’d work on shredding one of those. 

After selecting a set of matched wooden daggers from the weapons rack, he chose his straw-stuffed victim and lost himself in the deadly dance of combat. Soon he had worked up a respectable sweat and was breathing hard. Ignis felt his heart hammering in his chest and pushed himself harder, faster, fueled by adrenaline. He needed to be better. He needed to stop thinking he was better. He needed, he _wanted_... gods save him he had _no right_ to fantasize about things so far above his station in life.

He should go back home where things made sense.

How could he go home, where he’d be judged for loving as he chose, after enjoying the freedom offered in Terre d’Ange regarding such matters?

How could he stay here and watch Noctis and Gladiolus mock what he thought he had found with them both?

Ignis slumped against the battered practice dummy to catch his breath, his chest heaving and eyes burning with tears he refused to acknowledge. He’d cried enough for one day, damn it.

From his peripheral vision, he saw two women step out from the guardhouse. One he knew immediately - Crowe - the other, he thought he remembered from one of the many fêtes he’d attended - Aranea, perhaps? He thought that was her name. Ignis quickly averted his eyes as they kissed tenderly, not from disgust but from feeling that he was intruding on a private moment. He leaned his forehead against the straw-stuffed canvas and breathed, trying to ground and center himself.

A hand thumped his shoulder. “Ignis,” Crowe said, humor laced over her melodic soprano. “Why are you hugging a training dummy? Isn’t that what your Balm adept is for?”

Ignis tensed despite himself. He didn’t know if he’d ever enjoy the respite of Gladiolus’s embrace again. But Crowe had no way of knowing, and he had no cause to be rude. He turned slowly to face her, forcing his lips to curve in a polite smile.

It shattered as he met her eyes.

_He_ shattered as he met her eyes.

“Fuck, Ignis,” Crowe muttered, wrapping a strong arm around his shoulders and steering him towards the guardhouse. “What the hell happened?” She opened the door and pushed him inside, locking it behind them with an audible click. Crowe grabbed two cups, a bottle, and sat down; her arched eyebrow was a nonverbal command for Ignis to do the same. 

He sat and watched her pour dark amber liquid into both cups, and told himself that no, the whiskey didn’t look like Gladiolus’s eyes by candlelight. He drained the glass in one deep gulp, feeling it burn down his throat and loosen the tension in his shoulders fractionally. Crowe poured him another, but this one he merely wrapped his hands around, not wanting to become intoxicated too quickly. The tears were trailing down his face unheeded, causing Ignis to blink in surprise when some landed in his drink, causing tiny ripples to unfurl from each drop.

“Do you wanna talk, or just drink?” Crowe asked in her typical, brusque manner. “I’m okay with either, but you gotta give me a clue here, Ignis.”

“Both?” To hell with it, Ignis decided, draining the second glass too. Warmth unfurled from his center to spread out into his limbs and his face felt like it was on fire. The last time he felt this hot, he was with Gladiolus, their mouths fused together, their bodies—

**No**. None of those thoughts. Not today.

He swirled the honey-gold whiskey in the tumbler, watching as it spun like a whirlpool in miniature. Ignis had to tear his eyes away from the shifting depth of color, for it filled his mind with Gladiolus. How could it not? With a ragged sigh, he focused his reddened eyes on Crowe, squaring his shoulders and preparing to lay it all out.

“The Dauphin contracted an assignation with Gladiolus.” There. Surely Crowe would realize the import, the implications; surely Crowe would offer him solace and commiseration.

Vibrant bistre eyes blinked in bewilderment. “And…?”

Ignis glared at her. “‘And’ what?”

Crowe shrugged. “Gladiolus is an adept, so I’m not seeing the problem here. You knew that before you started your relationship with him. I don’t get mad at Aranea for taking on patrons, it’s her livelihood.”

“It’s not that,” Ignis snapped. He realized he was grinding his teeth and tried to pull himself together. Crowe poured him another drink, and this time he vowed he’d sip it and make it last. After taking one fortifying swallow, he continued. “I thought I was finally making some headway with the Prince. I thought he was starting to care about me as a friend, not just a tutor. He found out about my… connection… with Gladiolus and had to go ‘try’ for himself, to make mockery of my love.”

Ignis realized this may have been the first time he admitted to another person that he was in love with Gladiolus nó Balm.

He also realized with a sinking feeling that it wasn’t the only love he spoke of.

“Ignis.” Crowe’s voice was colder than Ignis had ever heard it, even at their very first meeting. “Remember where you are. I don’t know how things work in Caerdicca Unitas, but here in the City of Elua, we don’t play those games.” She reached out and pried his fingers from the glass of whiskey, taking his hands in her strong, calloused ones and giving them a squeeze. “If Prince Noctis visited Gladiolus, it was on Naamah’s business, not as a stab at you. An adept with Gladiolus’s reputation would have seen through the ploy if that had been the Prince’s intention, and wouldn’t have accepted.” She shook her head, genuine sadness filling her eyes. “Have you truly learned so little of our ways? Shit, Ignis. He may have chosen that adept - the adept you love - as a way of _bonding_ with you. Or as a token of generosity, to bestow a royal patron gift on the man you love.”

Ignis’s throat tightened and his mouth went dry. Had he truly misread the situation so drastically? “I… I hadn’t considered that,” he admitted, freeing his hands from hers and taking another drink. He allowed himself to recall the way the Dauphin’s elfin features had been twisted in shock and sadness at Ignis’s tempestuous reaction, the way those twilight eyes had glittered with his own unshed tears and shone with confusion that Ignis could finally admit may have been genuine.

Had he truly mucked things up this badly?

Could they be fixed?

He drained his glass again and when he set it down, it was with a hand that shook only partly for inebriation. “I made a mistake, Crowe.”

“No shit,” she laughed, but her eyes shone with compassion. “How you gonna fix it?”

“I….” Ignis sighed, slumping inelegantly back in his chair. “I should talk to him. Right now.” He surged to his feet and would have fallen to the hardwood floor if Crowe hadn’t leapt up and caught him.

“Whoa, friend. Maybe you should sober up first?” 

“But I have to talk to him _now_ ,” Ignis argued. “I have to tell him I love him and I am sorry for my jealousy, and that I will try to be more D’Angeline even though I’m Caerdicci.”

Crowe’s dark eyes widened and her jaw dropped. “Wait. I thought you were in love with Gladiolus?”

“I am,” Ignis laughed, and raised his glass. Finding it empty, he set it down and picked up the bottle, drinking straight from the neck. “‘Love as thou wilt’, yes? Surely that applies to more than one person?”

“It… can,” Crowe said slowly. “You’re pretty drunk, Ignis, and today has been an emotional day for you. Maybe you should sleep on all this? You can take my bed. I’ll messenger up to the main palace so no one is worried.”

“No!” Ignis yelled belligerently. His tone calmed marginally when he softened, becoming more sullen than angry. “If I cannot see Noctis, I wish to see Gladiolus.”

“I’m not sure that’s—”

“I’m going, Crowe,” Ignis interrupted her, verdant gaze flashing. “You can’t stop me.”

“Well, actually, I could, since I’m your usual bodyguard. But I won’t.” Her lips twisted in a bemused smirk. “Gladiolus can handle you, I wager. And if he can’t deal with you at your worst, well…” she shrugged before putting on her coat.

“Thank you, Crowe,” Ignis said contritely, bowing his head so low that messy ash blond bangs fell in a half-veil over his flushed face.

“Yeah, yeah,” she muttered, taking his arm. “Let’s get you to Balm before you make any more great judgement calls.”

* * *

A loud thumping at his door roused Gladiolus from slumber. He frowned in confusion; he intentionally hadn’t scheduled any assignations for tonight, so why was someone waking him in the middle of the night?

Sliding off his bed, Gladiolus shrugged into a robe, tying it shut before opening his door to reveal an apologetic faced servant. “Yeah?” He was too tired for fancy manners, and made a mental note to apologize tomorrow.

“You have a visitor, Adept. I put him in an empty sitting room. He was too… volatile… to stay in the main reception area.”

Gladiolus’s thick brows winged upward in surprise. “Bring him back here, please. I’ll get set up.” Clearly one of his patrons was in crisis, and Gladiolus would do what he could to help. “Bring some coffee too, please.” After shutting the door, Gladiolus took a quick survey of his quarters. He tended to keep them neat, and tonight with this unexpected visitor, that would only expedite matters. Not knowing what the man needed made it hard to prepare, so Gladiolus got out some soothing oils and lit a stick of lavender incense for its calming properties. He lit a few fat pillar candles around the room to give a gentle light that would be easier on the eyes than the electric lighting. With a glance at his sunken tub, Gladiolus shook his head. There was insufficient time to prepare it. Perhaps all this late night caller would need was conversation. He belatedly wished he’d asked the serving lad for tea as well as coffee, but perhaps he’d bring it anyway; the staff of Balm House learned to intuit such things. After fluffing the throw pillows on his overstuffed armchairs, Gladiolus pulled a comb through his sleep-tangled hair. He and his quarters were as prepared as they were gonna be.

But nothing could have prepared himself for the sight of Ignis Scientia, drunk and wavering on his feet, filling his doorway.

“Gladiolus.” Ignis’s crisp accent was softened by what had to be inebriation. Elua’s balls, why was Ignis showing up drunk in the middle of the night with no warning?

“Ignis. Sit down,” Gladiolus was concerned, but also irritated. He’d needed the sleep which was why he’d scheduled the night off from his work. He tried to swallow back the annoyance by reminding himself that over the past couple months he’d never seen Ignis like this, so clearly something notable must have happened for him to be in such a state.

A quieter knock at his door pulled Gladiolus’s attention away from his disheveled lover, and he collected the beverage tray from the servant with a murmur of thanks. Deciding hydration was the top priority, he poured Ignis a large glass of water and helped him balance it as he drank. After fixing Ignis a strong coffee and himself a soothing tea, Gladiolus took the chair opposite Ignis’s and looked at him flatly.

“What’s going on?”

“I fought with Noctis,” Ignis said, despair darkening his tone. “And I don’t know how to fix it.”

“How bad we talking? You lose your job?” Gladio asked in concern, sipping his chamomile tea.

“No, nothing like that.” Ignis shook his head, causing him to groan and lift a hand to gingerly rub his temple. “We fought about… you.”

Gladiolus limited his reaction to a lift of thick brows. “Why?” He had his suspicions - had since that conversation with Ignis after he and the Prince were attacked - but he wasn’t going to voice them, preferring Ignis to be the one to make the steps himself. If they were going to be together, Ignis had to be able to communicate without Gladiolus drawing each confession from him and leading him to every conclusion.

“I was jealous.”

He waited, but after Ignis declined to elaborate, Gladiolus sighed and broke the silence. “That makes no sense. You know who I am. You know I serve Naamah. Why would you be jealous?” Ignis had to say it, damn him. He had to admit it. He had to come to terms with it, Elua save him, or Gladiolus would end things here and now. That thought caused Gladiolus’s heart to ache, but he had to take care of himself in this.

“I…” Ignis trailed off, worrying at his lower lip with this teeth in a manner that was usually a delightful distraction to Gladiolus. Tonight, it simply served as a frustrating delay. “I have feelings for the Dauphin.”

The tension around Gladiolus’s heart eased fractionally. “So do I,” he said easily, though he suspected Ignis’s feelings ran far, far deeper than his own. “But that’s no reason for envy or anger. This is Terre d’Ange.”

“I thought Noctis came to see you as a way to provoke me. I’ve been spurning his advances, so I wondered if he learned about my relationship with you and used it as a weapon, trying to hurt me where it would sting the most.”

Gladiolus couldn’t help it. He laughed, though not unkindly. “You gotta stop thinking like you’re in Tiberium, _a ghra_. We don’t play those games here.”

“I see that now,” Ignis said testily. “But I only just realized tonight that my feelings were motivated by affection for the Prince, and I’m trying very hard to come to terms with all of this.” He set down the empty coffee mug and spread out his hands in entreaty. “I have learned enough to know my homeland is very backward in many ways. But this is all so much, so fast. I’m having trouble keeping up.”

Softening his stern expression, Gladiolus allowed a smile to shape his full lips. “If you need to slow things down, Ignis, that’s okay. But I need to make sure you understand me.” Topaz met emerald, unyielding. “I’m going to have other lovers. Patrons, and in my personal life. None of it has anything to do with what I share with you. And if you choose to take other lovers, I would never think it meant you no longer loved me.” He decided to lighten the mood, grinning playfully. “You have eleven more Houses to visit, after all. A man needs a thorough education.”

Ignis blinked, jaw dropping open a long moment, before he burst into laughter that was almost frenetic with relief. “Thank you for clarifying,” he managed between guffaws. 

“Happy to help,” Gladio said. “Now… I need to sleep.” He set down his teacup and rose gracefully to his feet, offering a hand to Ignis. “Join me?”

This time when Ignis’s cheeks pinked, Gladiolus knew it was in pleasure. “I’d like that.”

The covers were still pulled down, and Gladiolus helped Ignis slide into them before climbing up to join him. He reached out to wrap Ignis in his arms, but stopped when Ignis laid a palm on his chest. 

“Turn around for me?” Ignis asked, his eyes so earnest that Gladiolus didn’t question the request, complying with alacrity.

And then Ignis’s arms twined around him, and Gladiolus’s heart filled near to bursting with love and gratitude for the man holding on to him. Ignis might have much yet to learn about D’Angelines and matters of the heart, but sometimes he knew just what Gladiolus needed.

* * *

As Prompto approached the Royal Palace, he realized this was the first time he’d ever felt nervous to do so. Even before he and Noctis began… whatever they had, if anything, anymore… he always felt that he had a right to walk those marble halls. He was a child of Elua and this was his heritage too; none were barred from the public areas of the Palace, and all had the freedom to request an audience with any member of the government as needed.

But today, walking between sculpted busts and fanciful flower arrangements, Prompto felt small. Unworthy.

He followed the chamberlain to a room he could have found blindfolded, the Prince’s study. Prompto recalled the hours spent painting Noct’s portrait in this room, the unexpected embrace at the end, and his cheeks colored brightly. That had been the last time he was in this chamber, his other trips to the palace usually resulting in Noct taking him to the Hall of Music or Hall of Games - and, the one time, the dining room for that supper party - and then retiring to the massive four poster bed which was the crown jewel of the Prince’s boudoir.

But this time, Prompto wanted the distance. He wanted the forms observed.

This time, they needed to _talk_.

Prompto let his eyes linger on the carvings around the window frame, let himself dwell on the etched fleur-de-lis pattern limned into the oak of the wide desk dominating that room. A blush suffused his freckled cheeks as he recalled his myriad fantasies surrounding that desk, but it faded to leave him paler than before when he realized that depending on how this conversation went, none of them may come to pass.

And that might be for the best. Damn it.

Finally, after allowing his lavender gaze to dally over the patterns woven into the plush carpeting, Prompto gave into the simple desire he’d been nursing since last he saw Noctis. He raised his eyes until they locked on those of scintillating twilight; he took in the graceful line of that Courcel neck, the elfin sharpness lent to Noct’s face by his Shahrizai heritage. That heritage was more evident today as Noctis’s silken ebony hair was twined into what looked to be a hundred tiny plaits, a small bead of deepest green capping each. Prompto wondered at the difference from Noctis’s typical color choices, but didn’t have time to mull it over, his eyes drawn from hair to lips as that rosebud mouth opened and began to speak.

“I was surprised to receive your request, Prompto.” Noctis’s tone was soft and warm, much as Prompto recalled his embrace. “Pleasantly surprised.”

It was Prompto’s turn to be surprised; Noctis stayed sitting behind his desk, not rising to give Prompto the kiss of greeting. He was at once relieved and disappointed - he knew if they kissed, they’d do naught else, and this wasn’t the time. “Thank you for agreeing to see me… Your Highness.”

Those cobalt eyes swam tumultuously a moment before icing over, but Noctis remained silent. Prompto felt a pang in his chest watching Noctis struggle to control his emotions, but where before he might have changed course, have offered solace in place of severity, this time he stayed true to his path. “I wanted to talk about… us.” Prompto winced inwardly; he was a fully marqued Servant of Naamah - surely he could manage more eloquence than this. 

“Go on.” Noctis’s tone was as blank as his carefully schooled facial features.

“We’ve been spending a lot of time together,” Prompto began, striving for a measured cadence and calm timbre. “It’s been really nice. But… we both have other things. Responsibilities and stuff.” The more words came out, the more his collected facade was fading away. That blush came back, darker than before, but Prompto merely lifted his chin in defiance of his own embarrassment. Maybe he wasn’t being all professional and fancy.

He was being himself. That was more important.

“I’ll always be grateful that you helped me make my marque. But… you’re not my only patron.”

Now Noctis reacted, his brows drawing together in a confused furrow. “I never imagined I was. You’re far too talented.”

“Oh.” Prompto chewed his lower lip. “So you won’t be upset if I see other people?”

“You mean… you haven’t been?” Noctis frowned. “Are you talking professionally, or personally?” He leaned forward over his arms, crossed on the surface of his desk. “Prompto, you’re not beholden to me in any way. I never dreamed you’d stop seeing patrons, or anyone you wished to spend time with in your private life. I enjoy the time we have together, but I don’t own you.”

Prompto thought he may have imagined the dark edge curled around those last words; it brought to mind the unexpected sharpness Noctis had displayed during their last encounter. He shivered at the memory, and watched Noct’s gaze sharpen. “I’m… glad to hear that. I’m sorry if this is all weird or too straightforward. I just… I don’t want to hurt you,” Prompto finished in a rush, smiling at Noctis earnestly.

“Nor I you,” Noctis said softly.

“I think I’m gonna open my own salon. Well. Lease space at another until I can afford my own building. But I’m leaving Eglantine and setting up my own business.”

Surprise was in those cerulean eyes again, but this time coupled with a smile. 

“That’s great! Let me know when you’re open; I’ll talk you up and you’ll have no shortage of noble customers.”

Prompto laughed, feeling much lighter for having cleared the air. When he spoke next, it was without thinking. “You should be the first in the doors. Who helped you dress this morning? A crimson doublet with emerald beads in your hair? If you wanted to mix hues, you should pick two that are more complimentary.”

“I…what?” Noctis blinked, a hand lifting to his hair in a gesture that for anyone else, Prompto would call self-conscious. While he felt he knew Noctis better than most, he’d never known the man to be uncertain of his stylistic choices, feeling equally at home in formal Courcel blues or cotton casual attire. “I like green,” he said after a moment, and this time there was no mistaking the defensive note in his voice.

Holding his hands up, Prompto filed the information away and smiled disarmingly. “Fair enough. I’m hoping to join with Atelier Favrielle. I know they’re a tailor shop and I’m a painter, but—”

“You could create portraits of people in their new finery,” Noctis broke in, understanding lighting up his elfin features.

“Exactly!” Prompto grinned. “Since you were able to guess it, it must not be that crazy of an idea after all.”

Noctis finally rose, walking around his desk to stand next to Prompto. He reached out and took Prompto’s hands in his, causing Prompto’s pulse to race from the familiar warmth, the electric sparks that raced up his arms from the chaste touch. “Remember me when you’re the most famous painter in the City?” There was that note of uncertainty again.

Prompto’s eyes softened, and he leaned up to kiss Noctis’s cheek, whispering as they parted, “Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for sticking with us! Your continued support gives us life. <3
> 
> As a heads-up, this story will update again after [Gladio Rarepair Week](https://gladiorarepairweek.tumblr.com/post/181225263476/prompt-list-for-gladio-rarepair-week), which is a fanweek we are very excited about! Check it out!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Comments and kudos bring _joie_ to our hearts and increase our writing speed AND quality by 500%.
> 
>  [If you'd like to learn more about the Kushiel's Legacy universe, the Wiki is a great jumping point.](http://kushiel.wikia.com/wiki/Kushiel%27s_Legacy_Wiki)
> 
>  And last but not least, you can find both [Xylianna](https://xylianna.tumblr.com/) and [aliatori](http://aliatori.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr to talk, yell, keyboard mash, or whatever else your heart may desire.


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